


Springtrap - Redemption

by Noranum



Series: Springtrap [1]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Child Murder, Child Neglect, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Inspired by Five Nights at Freddy's, Mild Gore, No Romance, No Sex, Prison, Suicide, Therapy, Undeath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 10:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14376717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noranum/pseuds/Noranum
Summary: Purple Guy in an abusive relationship, trying to trade children for happiness and affection, with the well known consequences. This story is written by Springtrap himself, after he was brought out of the safe room, and is set up as a sort of therapy diary/consultation, dotted with comments from his therapists. Plot is often evolving off screen.This whole story is set in an alternate universe with rather different history, and will get more chapters.Beware SciFi, ghosts, and feels. (and bad spelling. English is not my main language)





	Springtrap - Redemption

**Springtrap - Redemption**

 

 

Five Nights at Freddy's, Freddy Fazbear's Entertainment, Golden Freddy, Golden Bonnie, Spring Bonnie, Springtrap, William Afton and all other names and/or brands not listed here are property of Scott Cawthon.  
The plot this story is based on is property of Scott Cawthon.

 

This story is in no way meant to be considered official or canon.  
This story is not meant to glorify, induce or excuse violence, child abuse, rape, and murder, or their committees.  
This story is not based on real facts, locations, persons, enterprises, or events. Everything in here is to be considered made up. Also, it is not too closely knitted into the actual story of any game made by Scott Cawthon. Differences between this story and the actual plot of said games are part of the project.

 

**Please be aware that this story is placed in an alternate timeline that greatly differs from our worlds history!**

 

I would like to thank GraWolfQuinn, Negaduck9, and Leda465 from DeviantArt for being sources of inspiration.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

**It takes one man to commit a murder, but it takes a whole society to let it happen.**

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

/// Interactive Consulting Software CLOVER™  
/// setup new document Case #11233-22 'SPRINGTRAP'  
/// system administrator CENT-COM  
/// allowed users CENT-COM, Dr. Adam Piers, Springtrap  
/// main user Springtrap  
/// default rules  
/// session start

 

 

**22.10.2019**

 

 

And they called ME insane. This dokidoki dickweed of a therapist really wants me to WRITE DOWN my story. Could help me, he said. As if I hadn't had enough time to think about this shit. But oh well, since I'm stuck here while they discuss about whether I could be sued or not – I mean I AM dead already – I could use something to fill the time. And as a plus, as long as I'm typing here that scumbag leaves me alone.  
So okay. Where to start?

 

Once upon a time, there was a dude with bad childhood. Who'd never been happy or loved. Let's call him Purple Guy. Okay, so Purple Guy hated everything and the whole world, but somehow he… liked kids. He'd never been one himself, and so he was happy when they were happy. This job at Freddy's was quite his thing actually. Jumping in these costumes and making kiddies smile was ace. Do kids these day still say ‘ace'?  
However. Purple Guy had to go home after each shift. And he was alone there. So alone that he went insane, and got tricked by his best friend into killing 16 kids.  
The end.

 

So is this enough, Mr. Goodman McLoving?

 

 

_\- Please Mr. Afton, try to go a little bit more into detail. I am aware that this will be a very hard step for you to make. Leaving a pattern of indoctrination that you have been infused with over several years is extremely difficult. But this is why I want you to write this down. You need to put it in your very own words. And you need to read these same words over and over again. I am here, at your side, but the path itself is something only you are able to go._

_\- Adam_

 

 

Izzatafactnow? Well wipe my ass. I never wrote shit like this before, so give me at least some time to prepare. As if I was a natural or something.

 

 

_\- Take all the time you need, but please, keep on._

_\- Adam_

 

 

Fuck you!

 

 

**24.10.2019**

 

 

I have no clue what you hope to gain here. All I want is to be sentenced and put into prison for a thousand years. And you want to FIX me.  
Idiot.  
But oh well here we go.  
I read that I could start anywhere, and put in information about my background at any point. So, let's start with the thing I remember best.

My death.

 

Of course I had an eye on the media. I was a murderer on the loose after all. And when rumors started about the animatronics at Freddy's to behave strangely, aggressive even, I was able to put two and two together. Never had been the spiritual type before. All those preachers who promise you honey and milk as long as you give them money and obey some ancient book's content could literally kiss my ass. But I've had had the feeling that this was more than just a bug in their programming. We had those fancy Celebramite bots back then. Third generation. Still buggy. But this shit that was going on... was different. The robots had killed two night guards and stuffed their corpses into empty suits. Official story was that they were programmed to find any endoskeleton and cover them up, so that kids and customers would never get to see the blank metal. Bullshit. They'd never done this before. It all started after I… after WE…. no. After SHE killed a whole party of 5 kids and… well, you can guess… I stuffed 'em into suits. The very same suits that ran amok just a day later. You don't need to have your head stuck up Jesus' ass to understand that these robots were haunted. At day, the programming was too tight to do any funky stuff, but the night mode allowed them to roam about freely.

Thought that I needed to do something about that. I still don't know why. Really. Lucy was happy about the chaos that went on. I was not. Maybe afraid that they would scrap the robots and find the corpses in there, together with evidence that would lead them to me. Us. Her. Whatever. Maybe I was afraid to lose my job – and my favorite murder scheme. I don't know anymore. My mind was shattered back then, I was a wreck.

You probably don't know, but that had been the time when WW3 was still on people's minds. The USA jumped into it '78, but oh well... this all turned out to be a little bite more than they could chew. Were on the brink of national bankruptcy for more than a year, until they finally hit it and dropped out of the war '82. Maybe that's why it all went so... smoothly. People had their eyes on the ongoing war or the economy, even five years later.

Building went into lock down, for staff to research the behavior of the bots and clean up the bloody mess they had caused. Five guards so far. I was still an employee back then so I had all the keys, and I knew the schedule of the cleaning and engineering squads. Went in there when nobody else was about. At daytime, the animatronics always stayed where they belonged to, never acting strange. Least that's what they said. Bullshit. They stare at me. I heard rumors that they would stare at every adult man. I guess the ghosts remembered that it was ME who'd put them there.

It was me.

I know.  
You don’t want me to write or say that.  
Yes, okay, to make you happy, I will repeat this shit. Lucy was the murderer. Who brainwashed me into helping her. And who also brainwashed me to believe that I was the killer, and would need her to cover up.  
There. Happy now, Egghead?  
But still. I cleaned up after her. Like always.

Dunno if I acted out of benevolence. Saving the night guards' lives? Maybe. Setting the spirits free? Could have been that, too. I don't remember. Heck, I was insane back then, riddled with guilt and the burning wish to kill more and satisfy her.  
Today I see how mad I was back then. How entangled in Lucys web. After three decades locked up alone, a man tends to get some thinking done. However, I took them apart. The robots, I mean. Not in the gentle way. Smashed them with an ax. Don't kill more guys, be free, move on. That's what I screamed at them. I'll be honest. I remember them all. Every face. And ripping the bots apart revealed the corpses of the kids. Brought me some nasty flash backs.

I was more or less finished and ready to leave when I saw them.

The kids.

First they stayed in the dark corners. Hiding behind shelves or under tables. Could have been a trick of light. Or just my raging insanity. Maybe both. I guess I DID set their souls free. Free to haunt me. I panicked. With my whole system already in overdrive thanks to the flash backs I screamed at them to leave me alone, to pass on, to go to hell or heaven or wherever. Wouldn't do that. Instead they came closer. And then there was the Puppet. That dreadful piece of trash. Haunted or just a hallucination, I didn't care, it blocked the way out, so I ran the other way. I ran. Through all those rooms usually filled with happy kiddos and their laughter. Now empty and dark. I did hear laughter, though. It was deep. Scared the crap outta me. The back door was blocked by the Puppet. The way into the office was blocked by the Puppet. And the souls of the kids drew closer. I remembered the safe room. And ran straight into there, locked the door. But ghosts can go through doors. So, I literally had trapped myself. And went into a full breakdown. They surrounded me. I saw them. Their faces. The kids. Eyes hollow and black. Crying. They came closer. But then they stopped. I soon got to learn why. The old springlock bonnie suit. Had been dropped into here 'cause it was a crappy build and dangerous. I had used it before. To bait the kids back into this very room. Of course they were afraid of it. And I saw a way out. So I crawled into it, the ghosts watching me without coming any closer. At first it seemed to work. They were afraid of the suit, moving backwards. I laughed. Happy that I had tricked them AGAIN with this crappy suit. Then came the Puppet. Through the locked door. And it wasn't afraid. I remembered the nosy little teen I had seen in front of the store. He never had been tricked by the bonnie, so he wasn't afraid. And came closer. The small ones too. I shouted at them to leave me alone. Tried to punch them.

And I guess that was what did the trick.

The springlocks used to hold the animatronic parts of the suit in place always had been wonky. In fact, the other suit of this type, Golden Freddie, had killed an employee when the locks failed. That had been the reason why they were dumped in the first place. Never gave a single shit about this, since I've had always been careful when using them to bait the kids. But not this time.

The locks broke. And like a bear trap, the metal parts snapped back into place. Crushing me. Still don't know why I didn't feel the pain. Maybe because I was in full panic mode? Metal beams and springs and servos cut into my flesh like a knife into butter. My innards literally exploded outwards, showering the suit and anything close in blood and gibs. It maybe just took a second or two. But felt like hours. I could feel the suit literally sucking out the life of me.

Then, finally, all went black.

That's how I died. And rightly so. Because it finally stopped my killing spree. I would lie if I said that I didn't try to stop myself before. I did. Every single time a kid died by my- by OUR hands, I'd swear it was the last one. I promised myself to go to the police. Therapists weren't invented back then.

I was sorry. I still am. And yet, I went on. Whenever I saw a kid, I would think about how and when I could snagg it away to make Lucy proud. To make her give me this thing I so desperately needed. This spark. This warmth? Happiness. Comfort. Gentle words. Praise. It would never stick long, and she would always ask for more. I was growing more and more desperate with every single murder. Instead of getting better, I was constantly getting worse.

I still don't know how I managed to keep the facade up, torn between guilt and self hatred, and the void inside me. People liked me. My coworkers trusted me. They talked to me about their problems. I gave advice, I gave them hope. Management loved me. I was their best Freddy. Got really into character, made even the grumpiest kid smile. Sold so much merchandise. Parents liked me. They knew their kids were in good hands.

How I failed them all.

How I failed myself.

But finally.

Blackness.

 

 

_\- Mr. Afton, this was incredible to read! Please try to remind yourself that, in fact, you did never kill anyone. Please go on._

_\- Adam_

 

 

Go and fuck a lawnmower. I do this 'cause they force me to. You really think this helps me? I'm a murderer! A monster! I spent three decades thinking about this!

 

 

_\- Please calm down. You are not a murderer._

_If it helps you, I will write it in here again for you to read at any given time._

_On the first of February 2008, Ms. Lucy Horace was found to be guilty in 46 cases of childmurder. She did confess every and each of them. She also did describe your role, William Aftons role, in 16 of these cases. Making arrangements for the murders to happen, you did aid her, yes, but you were not present at any of the deeds themselves. Also, Ms. Horace would have killed anyway, with or without your help._

_\- Adam_

 

 

fuck you!

Fuck you! She was my friend! The only one I ever had! Oh go and fuck yourself!

 

 

**25.10.2019**

 

 

Fuck. Keep going he said. Fuck you.

Fine.

I don't remember how long I had been.. away? The first thing I was able to recognize was water dripping down. It bothered me. Destroyed the silence of the blackness. And even dared to be irregular.

Drip dripp drip dridripp. Drip. Drip drip dridridripp. Drip drip. Dridripp.

Wasn't thinking back then. Not counting the drops. There wasn't anything going on in my mind. Like it is supposed to be. Maybe it took a week. Or a month. A year? Some time, I figured out, that the blackness was not just the absence of everything. I was seeing it. I heard the drops. The occasional thunderstorm, bringing down more water. It took me a while to realize that, no, I was not gone. There were still things going on. Around me. Inside me? I could feel the maggots digging into my flesh. Somehow.

I don't know when exactly I tried to move. My body, my corpse, was shattered, but the suit would follow my will. The left arm was able to move a little. The right one wouldn't. I felt that the mechanics were blocked. Blocked by my bones. Same thing for legs and spine. The suit was not build to offer enough room for a person AND all these electronics. Didn't think much about it. Left hand free, I started to rummage through what was left of my corpse. Managed to get some bones and flesh out, so the right arm could be moved a little. I kept doing this with the legs, too. And finally, I could stand up. The sound of loose meat and mucus to splatter down to the floor was what finally woke me up. I realized that… I had been killed. By the suit. I remembered the ghosts, haunting me. Remembered how the springlocks failed. How they ripped me apart. And there it was. The pain. The memory of it, at least.

I stared at the darkness, tried to put all this into my mind. Then, slowly, I raised my hands towards my face. The eyes of the costume still were lit. Gave off a little bit light. Enough to see the bloodstained fur of the rabbit suit. Enough to see exposed metal. And rotting flesh. I guess I fell down.

Blackness returned.

When I woke up again, it was hard to move. Instead of wet flesh there was leather. Or something like this. Guess the maggots had finished their meal and left the rest to dry out. Maybe it was summer back then, I wouldn't know. Was black as always. But no dripping water. Standing up made some parts of my corpse rip. Something fell out of me, to the ground. Parts. Pieces of dried flesh. I still was not able to figure out what had been going on. Why I still was there. I STILL was there. Trapped into this bunny suit. With my corpse inside. I walked a little bit around. More like stumbled. The light of the eyes didn't reach the ground. I found a light switch, and to my surprise, it went on. For the first time, I got a good look at my… body. The suit was in bad shape. Sure, it had been dumped years ago, had never been repaired or even maintained. And the fact that most of my soft body had been literally squished out of the suit hadn't done it any good. Parts remained. Chunks of jerky like flesh tightly wrapped around the metal endoskeleton. It seemed that I had managed to get most larger bones out before. The spine was still rather stiff – was a wonder that I could get up. I turned around. And saw the wall I had rested against.

Blood.

So. Much. Blood.

Most parts of the gibs had dried, I saw innards, parts of my guts, and bones. Surrounded by blood.

Somehow, I didn't panic. Maybe these parts of my mind had not been awaken yet. I DID panic every time I had sent a kid to the slaughterhouse, but not this time. Since I had nothing better to do, I shoved my hands into the holes of the chest piece, and started pulling out some meat and bones. Wouldn't be so easy as it had been back when all was moist and soft. But I did manage to get some ribs out, and a good portion of my spine. Luckily, the endoskeleton had done a rather good job crushing and ripping it all. I gained back some flexibility, it was easier to walk, to bend my middle part. So I just looked around. The safe room hadn't changed at all. Sure, it was moldy, dirty, and some shelves had been broken down, but altogether everything was in place. Only thing: the door. It was not there. Instead, a rather hastily built wall filled the doorframe. Perhaps this was what finally triggered my panic. I ran to the doorframe, punched the wall, but it wouldn't move at all. I punched it, feeling the damage done to the metal of my knuckles. Wouldn't move. I screamed. Or at least I tried. Out came just a mourning screech, which freaked me out even more. I looked back at the bloody mess, scanned the room for an other way out. There wasn't any.

This was my tomb.

My tomb.

 

I don't remember how long I was in freak mode. Maybe days. I crawled along the walls, searching for even the tiniest gap. I knocked at every single tile of the floor, hoping to find a hollow one. And oh so often I tried to break down the wall that blocked the doorway.

Nothing. The suit was not made to do any hard work. Even the last remains of my corpse slowed it down. No way it could bring up the strength to break down a fucking wall.

Next I tried to find the source of the water. Some hole in the ceiling. But even with the suit being over two meters high, it was not enough to reach the top of the room. And even when I tried, the water seeping through the concrete would be enough to cause a shorty, leaving my arms limb for hours.

No way out.

This was my tomb.

 

 

I cooled down some time later. Tugged back into a corner, hugging my own knees, I somehow realized that the situation I was in could have been some kind of… well, punishment. I never, ever believed in God. Or any god, for that matter. Sure, growing up in good old ‘murica will lead into every single part of your daily life to be tainted with this shit. People bless each other oh so often. People pray. Instead of doing something reasonable, people just pray. Guess they prayed for me to be found and judged. I was a murderer after all. A little less praying, and a little more organized thinking and searching, and I might have been caught. And not trapped in this hellhole.

No. I was not a murderer. I helped one. This still is a crime, this still is a sin, right? Because, I was there. Dead. Un-dead? My body definitely lost its capability of sustaining life long ago. Rather important parts of it were scattered all over the room. Yes, there was in fact something supernatural going on there. And my ass be damned if it hadn't to do with my sins. My committed murders. The pain I caused to the kids. To their families. To myself?

I don't know. If I'd hadn't lost my mind before, I would have back then.

Now, the thing is, you can't stay in panic mode all time. Even when dead. I was far from thinking reasonably, but I started to think nonetheless.

Dunno why, but I started searching the stuff around the room. Mostly documents. Thankful for the light, I read them. All. A good portion of them were just business report and taxes. I found internal communication, orders from the management, complaints of employees and stuff like that. But then there were those safe cases. You know, the sort with electronic locks. Too bad they had been long run out of power, so they were open to me. And this was, in fact, the juicy stuff. I dug through all the shit Fazbear Entertainment had been doing to cover up with all the crap that went going on. Not only the murders I caused, but also the haunted robots, the Bite of '87, and the other accident in '83. And of course, what kind of funding they were ready to accept. They managed to survive a world war. First time in history the USA went into bankruptcy. You need to get your hands dirty if you want to survive. And Fazbear had their hands in the shit up to the shoulder. If you thought I've been a nasty boy, those suits in the upper lounge were quite wicked, too. Horrendous amounts of hush money had been paid. They'd bought up some journalists to leave out the bad stuff. Instead of fixing the robots, or scrap them all along and hire living entertainers, they just left them going on. In fact, who ever thought it would be a good idea to have huge, autonomous tin cans equipped with actual TEETH play music for kiddos could rightly be called insane. I killed kids. Management killed all those night guards. Okay, 'twas me who put them spirits into rage.

It was me.

But still, they let it happen.

Fun thing though: I found papers covering the discussion about the murders. They did in fact search internally. A huge list of employees, their financial status, family, know addictions and stuff like this. There had been a ranking. From 'most suspicious' to 'least suspicious'.

And then, there was me.

William Afton, born 1966, Lincoln, UK; immigrated 1969; employed 1983; since then filled the position as waiter, arcade mechanic, animatronics mechanic, entertainer (Golden Freddy), night guard.

After this formal register, some notes followed, all in different handwriting:

 

_Don't bother asking him – he's a sunnyboy_

**No way, he's not the man**

He'd rather let himself get killed than harming others

Asking him if he'd seen something?

Nah he's good with all workers, don't think they'd tell him something nasty

_Move him to day shift again, else we will lose more rep_

 

 

 

 

We found him. Dead. Spring bonnie crushed him.

_Shite_

**No way he was a good guy** Fuck cover up

Ppl hearing this will get mad

_was the face number one cover up_

Cover up! **Wall the corpse in**

_Yeah put a wall there, report missing_

 

 

Fired due to absence. To be reported as missing Feb. 1988

 

This is what they did to the “face number one”. Well, can't remember that I was angry. Sad, maybe? I DO remember that there was something going on inside of me. And this time not the maggots. Pride? A serial killer should be proud, hm? That they'd never get the idea that it was me.

No, proud I wasn't.

I don't know. How do you feel when you read people's reactions to your death? I mean, not that this happens that often. Whatever. The reports ended in January '88. Precisely the 22th. At least I knew the date of my death, since they walled me in the same day. I wished for a clock back then. Any way to measure time. There was no source of light beside the small ceiling lamp. There were no sounds, no sign of activity in the building. I was all alone. All alone. Could not escape. All alone.

Fuckit. I'm done for today.

 

 

_\- Mr. Afton, I deeply feel sorry for you. Even if I still do not understand most parts of your… prolonged existence, I know that you went through pain and suffering, and a traumatic death. I don’t really think that you are stable enough to face this again right now._

_May I suggest, that you focus your writing more on your relationship with Ms. Horace?_

_\- Adam_

 

 

I hate you.

Not stable you say. But want me to go on and about my whole fucking childhood? Because if you want to know how and why this daemon of a bitch was able to catch me so easily, I need to start all over.

 

 

_\- Please do this. If you need any help, don’t hesitate to ask me. I am here for you._

_As a side note, please remember the hearing tomorrow._

_\- Adam_

 

 

**1.11.2019**

 

 

Dear diary, today was pretty fun! Gotta meet many different people, all who could not get enough of me. Reminds me of good ol' days as Golden Freddy. But it was no kiddos hands rummaging through the fur, but mechanist. Yea, I'd got some repairs done. Sounds sweet I know. They fixed the broken fingers of my left hand. Which is ace 'cause I'm a lefty. Cut out some cables and wires and fixed joints and what not. Oh. And they removed what was left of my corpse. Most tricky part was the skull. It was mostly intact, and rather stubborn. Can't say that this was enjoyable. They removed parts of the mechanical head, but these won't stop to... be... connected?... to me? I mean I could still... sense or feel or fuck my soul them cleaning the metal parts and re-attaching them. They cleaned so much. All. Nothing organic left inside.

Another plus is, that they cleaned and re-calibrated the sound box. Don't groan like a zombie anymore. I got new fur, too! They decided to go on with the bunny theme. A shame, I hoped for Golden Freddy. Heard them talking about rebuilding me into a more human-ish shape. Seems that robotics made quite some steps forward while I was away. Still, they used original spare parts made by Fazaka, Fazbear's own robotics manufacturer. Mostly because, nobody understands HOW I am stuck in here, what part of me is really me. And after I told them that I still felt the disconnected parts, they dropped this idea.

But oh well, I am clean. After thirtysomething years I'm clean. At the same time it was freakalicious. No feeling or anything in my corpse. Nothing. Numb. Just a piece of mummified meat. An ugly one. I actually was concerned that removing the skull would somehow shift me into the corpse. I mean, the suit can move. I can talk using the soundbox. My corpse is just meat. Nothing moves there. No talking without lungs. But luckily, my soul seems to enjoy the suit, and decided to stuck here instead of my real body. Can't blame it. Happiest times of my life had been when I wasn't me.

Things were gathered, and put into a casket together with what else remains of me. They still don't know what to do with this. Technically, I am dead. Means I need to be buried. On the other hand, I am right here. Able to give logical respond, to remember the stuff going on in the 80's. They showed me pictures of places, I remembered them. They let me solve stupid math shit. Okay, I programmed arcade games for some time, so this was not that bad. Still no clue what they wanted to find out. Maybe if I am just an AI? I don't know. Maybe I am. Maybe my... soul?... the Soul of William Afton imprinted the circuits of this suit. They talked much about AI rights court and something they call Great Blackout and an AI civil war that killed humans on the moon. I got the slight feeling that I DID miss some rather exiting parts of history. So, am I an AI? The suit has a Celebramite brain, like they all did. Not so fancy like those they have today, but sill. Springtrap, an artificial intelligence?

Maybe.

But.

Yeah, but.

Then again, we still have a problem. A mystery, even.

The power.

I do remember several times the suit's power went out. All due to shortys. Water, you know. I was 'awake' during those periods, able to think and all that, just paralyzed. And now the most funny part ever to think of:

There is no power. Nuclear fusion was still on the way back then. Europe had its first plant 1976, just 4 years after the Germans and Swedes managed to run the first fusion with a plus of energy. But in the USA, this took another ten years to become a thing, thanks to the bankruptcy and so.

We still had old stuff back then. I remember the animatronics being fitted with huge, chunky car batteries, which had to be replaced trice per day shift. That allowed them to look more 'natural', like walking around and giving presents to kids and all that without a cord that connected them to the ceiling or floor. Now, to make room for a person, those springlock suits had their batteries removed. If they were to be used as an autonomous robot, just open the locks, put the power back in, and you're done. Spring bonnie was in suit-mode when I jumped into it. No battery, now power. Still. It runs. Still it can get a shortout. If the fact that I am somehow trapped in here wasn't spooky enough, no, this stupid costume gets power out of nowhere.

Freaked out not only one of the guys repairing me.

However.

More important thing might be, that they deemed me sue-able. That means, I'm a person after all, not an AI. Not sure how they gonna build this whole haunted bunny stuff into the laws, but I don't really care. The court also said that I am dead. And since this is the highest form of punishment they could dish out, I am free to go. At the same time, they want me to stick with Mr. Goodypants. Actually, they force me to go trough this whole therapy shit.

Don't know what I should think about this. I am dead, but still a person. I'm a murderer, someone who even confessed everything and all, but they can't punish me cause life already made me pay the highest price.

Talk about crazy.

 

 

**2.11.2019**

 

 

You know that you are in 'murica when some bible-sniffing prick is able to force a federal court into action. Some guy didn't want to buy this whole spooky shit. They let actual Icelandic AI experts run some tests with me, resulting in meh. Nobody knows what's going on inside of me, but they could prove that I am in fact not a robot, since the Celebramite brain is completely dead. So then, the same guy demanded to involve an exorcist. Yeah, for real. To drive out the evil spirit that is me and leave me to be judged by our Father thou art in heaven.

Long story short, three Jesus-wizards need to get some thinking done about their powers. Last one tried to club me with a bible. That's when court decided to cut this off and let me go.

However, after fucking with some guys understanding of physics and reality, crushing some other peoples faith, I went back into the same security prison I'd stuck in since they brought me out of that horror show.

Oh well, at least I will get some more writing done. Hate to admit it, but that weirdo is right. Typing this down DOES help me.

 

So.

Hey. Dickweed.

You… you really want to know this shit? Growing up and all was not really cool. I would rather like to write about how I was rotting in that tomb of mine.

 

 

_\- If this helps you, please do this. As long as you keep in mind that, sooner or later, you will need to go to that point. I do not want to force you, as this won’t have any sense and effect, but as your therapist, I am still obliged to keep you moving on._

_Also, I still try to imagine what a ‘dickweed’ looks like._

_\- Adam_

 

 

Don’t try to be funny, old man.

 

 

_\- You are technically older than I am._

_\- Adam_

 

 

Great. A funhorse, AND a knowitall. Why me…

 

 

**3.11.2019**

 

 

Back to the safe room and all the papers in there. I read this shit to keep my mind busy. Today I think I needed this, both to not freak out (even more) and to calm down enough to do some actual thinking. Reading trough numbers of earnings and losses makes you stay rational.

Of course I asked myself why, and HOW, I haunted this bunny suit. That was nothing short of a complete break with what I ever believed in. But I never got a good answer to these questions. It occurred to me that, maybe, it was a glitch in the system. Bonnies AI running amok completely, and I was somehow the result of this. A sapient robot, thinking it used to be a murderer. It might still be true, though. Poor bonnie. Even if Golden Freddy was my favorite, I'd wished for the bunny to develop a better personality.

However, after going trough all these papers TWICE, I went on to examine the walls. Maybe I could find a weak point. Was a bad idea, really. In no time I was back into panic. Broke down my left hand, made it almost unusable. When you can't flee, and when there is nothing to fight, you play dead. I did so. Took myself back into the only dark corner of the room, tightly snuggled, and tried to die. I just wanted to die. Like I always did. I don't remember if there had been a time in my life where I didn't wish to just drop dead. Shit is, you won't just die. Either you find someone doing it, or you do it yourself. Tried that, actually. Brought me quite a lesson from my old man. The kind of lesson that would deliver you straight to hospital. Well, mum fixed me up, like she had been doing all my life. But back to the safe room. I don't know how or what happened, but I think I just blacked out. A zombie in a bunny suit doesn't need to sleep, sure, but I still remember how to do this. And it actually brings me peace. So, I fell asleep. Without any needs like food or water, you sleep as long as you want. I guess I might have been away for several years.

 

That's it for today.

Write something or don't, I'll go and sleep like a dead now.

 

 

_\- Alright Mr. Afton. Actually I have quite a list of things I really would like to know. Beside the main topic with being undead, I clearly see some patterns speaking for several serious traumata. Without wanting to push you, I would like you to go into detail about your childhood, and, again, your relationship with Ms. Horace. Also, as you had been told, two more therapists will get access to these notes, and might as well ask something, since they don't talk to you on a daily basis like I do._

_\- Adam_

 

 

/// system administrator CENT-COM updated rules

/// added users Dr. Sandra Vallence, Lena Jong

 

 

**4.11.2019**

 

 

I am. So. Happy. To have more of you guys bugging me. I don't see what you hope to gain. Put me into another trial, lock me up a thousand years, throw me into the ocean, I am ready to face a just punishment. I am a murderer after all. I killed. I slew 16 children. Who trusted me. And you want to ‘fix' me? Why? Just why? I am dead. There's is no hope for me. I am dead.

 

 

_\- Mr. Afton, first: You are not a murderer._

_The murderer was Lucy Horace, who confessed 46 different deeds._

_Second, I wouldn't work as a therapist in a high security prison when I would lose my hope so fast. Your circumstances are in fact rather obscure, but still I believe that something can be done. And even if you will not believe this yourself, just view this whole writing as an other form of crime report. You say you are willing to face your ‘punishment'. This is it._

_\- Adam_

 

 

Ugh, where do you get all this energy? Having hope for a haunted bunny costume. You, sir, need to see a therapist.

Okay. You are good with words, I give you that. Punishment. Good. I think I can work with that. Just give me some time to… find a way to start. Honestly, my childhood is something I'd rather not think about. Locked away and such.

 

 

**# Hello. My name is Sandra Vallence, and I'm going to claim that hashtag for me :) I am rather happy to be allowed to work with you, Mr. Afton, since your case is absolutely unique! My condolences for everything you had to go through to finally get the help you need.**

**# Sandra**

 

 

Oh bollocks are you kidding me? Condolence? Okay, if that was supposed to be a joke – don't. I really don't need anybody patting my shoulder. Heck I'm a se- I still believe that I was a serial killer. I could be the main baddy in a horror video game. What are you going to do when we meet in person? Offering me cookies and a coloring book?

 

 

_\- Mrs. Vallence is a pediatric psychiatrist, whom I invited because I think she might be able to help you better than I am, at least in some cases. Since you are definitely carrying issues deeply rooted in your childhood, we need to start our work from the very bottom. I know that this all is uncomfortable for you, Mr. Afton, but please understand that we are trying to help you. And to manage this, we need to understand you. If you are absolutely against this, we can of course try to find an other way, but so far I personally think writing seems to do a good job._

_\- Adam_

 

 

Okay okay, izzafactnow. Smileygirl and McLoving. Do your worst. But as soon as you get a preacher in here, I'm out.

 

 

**5.11.2019**

 

 

Okay. Okay, okay, well, I'll try. Can't promise you guys anything. Maybe I can bring down a whole piece of text, maybe I'll freak out after two lines. I'd rather not, since crying with this soundbox of mine is quite creepy.

So.

My childhood.

Okay. I can do this.

Crime report, punishment. Here we go.

As far as I know, my parents left the UK when I was a toddler. They left everything behind, broke down all connections. I still have family over there, but I wouldn't know much about them.

It has always been a struggle. I'm their last kid, out of four. I think that my oldest sister stayed in England as a result of a fight, 'cause we never talked about her. In fact, I grew up not knowing that I had a second sister. Only when my dad died we needed to contact her. So, at home… or let's say, at the place we grew up… dad was the boss. He was in charge, he had to know every single thing we did. Specially money-related stuff. How long did we leave the lights on, how much water did we use, how much heat. I guess we were poor as fuck, food was always scarce. The bread would have been weighted. You won't get a slice of bread, but a certain amount of grams. Even today I don't know what my old man was working as. Maybe a construction worker. He had some muscles, that much I remember. Could hit rather hard. My mom was a cleaning lady. She was that kind of women who tries to be invisible. Small, meager, colorless, silent. She would never raise her voice, always whispering. I don't remember if I ever saw her smiling. She got work done, of course, behind our backs. Cleaning the house, doing the laundry, making food out of the crap we could afford. She left at night, to go to work. Which means my older siblings and me were left alone with dad. You probably can guess that this was not very nice. He terrorized us with his controlling. Would sneak around the house and listen to us. If we were too loud, or talked shit, he'd jump out of the hiding and hit us. This would get worse and worse as I got older. He would just wake you up in the middle of the night to ask you shit. And if you not got the answer he wanted to hear, he punched you. That way, he made us ‘admit' that we ate too much, that we kids were too expensive, that our school was too much to afford, that the family would be doing better without us. That is what I got to hear almost every night, for years.

He died when I was thirteen.

And I was sure that my older brother Vincent killed him. And that mom covered up. Nobody cried. I guess we all lost our ability to cry long ago. There was no trial or anything, so I guessed whatever Vincent did to our father was subtle enough to pass as a natural death. We'd never ever talked again about him.

Money was becoming a problem, though. Without the income of our dad, we three kids had to get some work. Vincent was the oldest, almost seventeen. He managed to get an under-the-table employment at a gas station. Mary, my sister, did do some sewing for other families around, and I delivered newspaper. We were not happy. But also not sad or angry. There was no time for emotions, really. For me, the days were dull and all the same. Getting up, newspaper, school, newspaper again, homework, sleep. I guess we made it. Somehow. When Vincent was eighteen, he got a real job at a construction side. Worked his ass off to make some extra coin. He basically fed the family, as our dad had been doing before. Mary followed up, getting a place in a textile fabric nearby. Which led me to stay at home alone.

I never had friends. Dad wouldn't allow this. Plus, being a poor little sucker who had to wear the shirts of his older brother sure does something to kill your reputation at school. I was alone. Had a family, but was alone. We didn't talk much at home. Nobody had anything to say. Even without our father, this place was dark, silent and more like a prison. You'd move on, since this is the only thing you knew.

The major point is, I never, ever knew anything beside physical needs. Hunger, warmth, security. These were what kept me going. And all these were bound to things. Objects. Hunger would go away with food, cold would stop with a blanket, and fear would go away when dad… when the danger left. Nobody cared for the rest. For the so called immaterial needs. Emotions. Comfort. These simply didn’t exist. For nobody. My mother would never be nice to us. Sure, she was not cruel. She was just indifferent. Would feed us, wash our clothes, but that’s all. Watering the house plant so that it would not die. I don't want to blame her, really, since she never got any emotional support either. But then again... just don't have kids.

I grew up not knowing anything about being happy. Being liked. A walking chunk of rock, shaped like a kid, and beat into obedience. To my peers, I was an alien. And they made sure to let me know this.

I was empty. And alone.

That was, of course, until I meet… her.

Lucy.

I was a teenager. A kid. Had barely three hairs on the sack. She was twenty six. She was a someone. A person. She had a personality. That would enthrall you. Did I just write a fancy educated word? Wow, look at me, I'm gonna write a novel soon.

There was no special event of us meeting or so. One day, after I returned from my evening newspaper delivery, she just started to talk to me. An adult woman, talking to a rock. I… please believe me. I do not know what happened. I ended up in her house. She did… things. I guess she raped me? I was a teen, without any understanding of what was going on inside my own head. Most of the time, nothing went on there. But she made things move. Lucy made me FEEL. Happy. Wanted. Cared for. She praised me for being a good boy. She petted me like you would pet a dog for bringing you the slippers. I know. Oh, I know this sounds so stupid.

But… please. Don’t laugh. Just please do not. I know, I am a foulmouthed asshole, but please, just don’t make fun.

I felt. Things. For the first time in my life. It was a drug. Really. Whenever I left her house, I was about to just go back to get more. I was starved. Affection. The nice things she said to me. The cute names she called me. The whole rape and sex stuff was more or less something I did to be praised and liked. It took only a couple of months for me to be totally addicted to her. I wanted nothing else beside making her happy, so that she would, in turn, make me feel good.

The first time I… the first time someone died was just a couple of weeks away from my sixteenth birthday.

I still am not sure what really happened.

One day, Lucy asked me, if I wanted to make her ‘really, really happy’. This was a give-and-get system, so when she was happy, I would get happy, too. And really-really-happy sounded like paradise. Of course, I said I would do anything for her.

There was this girl in my school. Lucy said she was pretty. That she would like to spend some time with her. And, she wanted me to make this happen.

I was not far enough into this whole feeling-thing to be jealous. I just got a clear order. Get the girl, bring the girl, be a good boy.

Don’t ask me how, though. I still have no idea how I, the malformed, hollow teen, was able to put on a winning smile and find some sweet words. It just worked. I brought the girl to a place Lucy and I would meet now and then, she had been waiting there already.

Without any kind of effort or hesitation, Lucy knocked the girl out. Then, she walked over to me, gave me an intense kiss, and said to leave them alone for some time, but make sure to be ‘back for my reward’.

I was a little bit shocked, at the same time, looking forward to whatever she had in store for me.

I did get my reward. Was a very good boy for a couple of days.

But.

Yeah, but. Then, I asked about their ‘time together’. I remember that day clearly. Even today, after all this shitfucking crap I went through, I feel nauseous thinking about this.

Lucy answered, with a pretty smile, that, well, of course she killed the girl and had sex with the corpse.

Before I could freak out, she leaned over, and said… she said, thank you. She said, that thanks to me, the girl was dead. That I practically had killed her. And if I wanted to stay her good boy, I would make sure to keep my mouth shut about this.

That was the very first time in my life I felt guilt. It was a wave, crashing down at full force. I went home. Mother was there, not saying a word, not even looking up when I entered. I cried the whole time. Nobody cared. Nobody noticed. My first thought was, go to Lucy, she makes things feel good. Bullshit, she just made me feel this way. But oh well. Once you are trapped, you will always come back.

I went back to her a day later. I stayed her good boy.

 

 

One day, I read an article about Freddy's Family Diner. I saw smiling faces and the promise of joy. Of course we could not afford such a thing, but I also read that another place, Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, was looking for staff. So I went there. And if there was one thing I learned in my life, that was how to work. They took me in, and I did a good job. I dished out food I could only dream of. Made kids smile, and parents happy. That was 83, just a year after national bankruptcy. The place had always been badly managed. Open ends wherever you looked. Not enough staff to get all the work done. So I needed to fill more places than just a waiter's. I repaired the arcades, was rather good at it. Upgraded them when needed, put in new games, managed to reduce the power consumption. Since I was good fiddling with electronics, they let me lay hand on the robots. I admit those things were creepy at first, but once you learn how they work, it is just another job. I learned how to repair the moving parts and keep them in shape. How to care for the Celebramite brains, that housed the AIs of the characters. Sure they were mass produced, but each of them was delicate. You could not just rip them out of their body to put them into another. I found ways to slightly increase performance, make the joints smoother, the fingers more dextrous. All while making sure the AIs were comfortable. Since the animatronics were made by Fazbears very own robotics lab, Fazaka, they were nothing compared to high-tech bots from the European Federation. Iceland was world's best producer of robots and AI. Heck, they were the guys who invented Celebramite, this programmable metal stuff that made higher forms of robots possible in the first place. Ours were crappy. Kept me busy. Within half a year, I became a rather good mechanic. I was seventeen, had no higher education, not even a stable lower one. But it was learning by doing. Sure, I did not know any fancy words for all those parts and electronics, but boy, I was able to work with them. A teen, better at tinkering than our senior mechanics.

It happened that I was inside the Golden Freddy springlock suit for testing it, when the manager rushed in and demanded me to go on stage. I tried to explain that I'm just the maintenance dude, but it was no use. So; I stood there, on stage, with oh so many big round puppy eyes looking up to me. I did a great job. Singing all those shitty songs, cuddling kiddos, making them laugh. When I finally got out of that suit the manager came to me and hugged me as if I was his long lost son. I later got to learn, that there had been a deadly accident just the same day, and we'd needed to cover up.

You know.

Even back then, they called me the Purple Guy. Mr. Afton is too close to words that weren't allowed, and in fact, my eyes do look purple. Well, they did. They rot away twentysomething years ago. Also, I'd happen to like this color. My car was purple, too. So, Purple Guy it was. PG for short. Everyone called me that. The kids, the staff, the parents.

Being on stage was a sweet poison to me.

I literally basked in the feeling the kiddos showered me in. It felt so good. Every single child wanted to cuddle me, to sit on my lap, wanted me to sing, to dance, to be a goofball.

But whenever I left the suit, it felt like all this happiness would leave me, too. I went home, and was alone. My mother would not say a single word. My sister would just sit there and sew. My brother would come home late, gulp down some food, and go straight to bed.

I was desperate. It is one thing when you don't know how to be happy. But I knew. I'd learned. I WAS happy whenever a kid beamed at me, I was so happy that I sometimes had to hurry backstage, rip the headpiece of and cry. No water on the springlocks, you know. But it won't stick. I just could not get a hold on it.

I thought I would be able to… produce… this happiness, this feeling of being well, of being liked and wanted and loved. I was not.

I went back.

Of course Lucy knew about my job. She was encouraging it. At first, in the normal way. Like a friend would be happy for a friend. But, soon, things would get all wrong and wretched again. You know. I was working at a place with many children. Lucy loved children.

Before the end of the year, it happened again.

His name was Robert. At least that's what he said. Maybe 9 years old, a little fat, brown hair, blue eyes. It was a rather dull day, not many kids there. So, little Robert went in, ordered a whole Pizza for himself. I got suspicious, called the manager. Usually, we don't serve kids without parents. Manager came, asked Robert where his folks were, even offered to call the police and bring him home. But oh, little Robert was well educated, and he knew how to make people do what he wanted them to. He waved a bunch of thousand dollar bills, said, that his parents didn't need to know where he was at his 'day off'. He literally bought up the whole store. Buying food and drinks for all the kids in there. We gotta call some people in to manage all this, but Robert was in heaven. He was so happy. Happy doing something for others. He radiated like a stove. The manager was nervous all the time, but as long as there was enough money to pay up, things would get dished out. Started another round of reasoning with Robert when the boy demanded to invite kids from the nearby orphanage. But then again, Robert knew his way. 'Just think of the headlines!' were his magic words, and within an hour we were full to the brim.

Was the busiest day ever. But also the worst. If I hadn't already realized that my job literally was tearing me apart, it would have been that day for me to learn it. I was completely in overdrive, sucked full of kid's happiness, like a leech that just had drained an elephant. I danced my ass off, sang till I was almost mute, carried more pizza than I could count.

But then.

They left.

Kids went home, staff cleaned up.

Dark. And cold. I deflated like a torn balloon.

Manager was busy counting the earnings, you could hear him laugh like a madman.

At that night, I was barely able to crawl into my car and drive home. Felt so empty inside like never before. Started crying, weeping even. I pulled my car onto a parking plot, just to cry my eyes out. If there is some god in heaven, someone who controls the fate, then they are quite a jackass. A sick and evil prick having fun to lead their sheep in wrong directions. I was sitting there, having a horrible breakdown, and you know who'd happen to stroll by?

Robert.

Still shining like a thousand watt bulb.

And I thought…… be a good boy. Bring that kid to her. She will be happy. YOU will be happy.

 

Hey, please. Don't comment this.

Just don't. I know I'm an asshole, but please just leave me be a day or two.

 

 

/// system administrator CENT-COM updated rules

/// hidden text sections enabled

/// allowed users CENT-COM, Dr. Adam Piers, Dr. Sandra Vallence, Lena Jong

/// excluded users Springtrap

 

///hidden text section start

 

 

_So, I've been thinking about this for quite some time, but now seems to be a good opportunity to start this. These hidden text fields will give us some space to discuss, without upsetting William or destroying the text flow._

_I am, so far, impressed how much information he is able to put into these lines. I've worked with him since they locked him up, and I never got much out of him. Some unimportant information on the best days, hissing and threats and curses on the worst._

_Circumstances are rather obscure. And to make it worse, I am starting to understand what wicked play William had been part of. This is horrible. Turning a neglected young man into your errant boy, promising him what is a basic human right as ‘reward’. I am utterly disgusted._

_And even more willing to offer him all the help he needs. I am no expert with occult phenomena, but maybe his soul is able to move on when it is finally at peace._

_Adam_

 

 

**I agree. This turns out to be even worse than I thought. I read through everything covering the Horace case, but this addition I would like erase.**

**All together, it is rather crazy. To think that we try to reach out to a ghost, trapped in a mechanical bunny suit... this is definitely not what I got in mind when starting to do counseling ;)**

**As I see it, we need to do much groundwork. Nobody is able to undo this lack of parental care, but still, it's never too late for a fulfilled childhood.**

**I personally think we should start a low effort training as soon as he is stable enough to endure this. We need the full program. Self-esteem, reflection, stabilization, maybe even a therapy dog. But so far, yeah, letting him write down what is on his mind is the best start.**

**Sandra**

 

 

It is a rather interesting approach. Writing often seems to work for people with deep rooted traumatic experiences. I usually work with the victims of abuse, and went this way a couple of times successfully.

Thank you for inviting me to this project, Adam. I try to help as much as I can, but firstly I need to work through the text that has been produced so far.

Please, don't push him. And respect when he doesn't want us to comment. As for further therapy, I think he also needs sort of rehabilitation. As far as I understood, he... was locked up thirty years. With parts of his corpse still in him. A nightmare resulting in another nightmare turning into an even worse nightmare. We need to approve as slowly and gently as possible.

As a side note. It often happens that outsiders won't understand. If someone doubts our work, don't let them bring you down, please. He may have helped murdering innocent children, yes. But they are dead, nobody can bring them back, but he is... oh, dead as well, but not... you know. We can still do something for him. And that is our duty as doctors, no matter what he did.

Lena

 

 

Okay hey, hello, hello! It's Central Admin right now, I just drop in, well, I thought it would be better to ask you before we do something stupid. And since Dr. Piers is already home...

'Springtrap' has actually, for the first time ever, asked something. Seems like he would like to take another look on his... well, corpse. We are not sure how to respond to this, so please bear with me that I kinda hijacked this therapy-thing of yours.

I also need to inform you that several of the guards are still really freaked out about this whole possessed bunny costume stuff.

I really, really try to keep things as smooth as possible, but please remember, this is a high security prison, we usually have people sorted out in a couple of weeks, so maybe, if possible, you could try to move him into a more permanent facility. And no, I'm not speaking of a graveyard, even if some guys here would really like to do this.

CENT-COM

 

 

**So he wants his corpse? Is he going to do something crazy with it? I mean he was stuck with it for such a long time, why would he want to see it?**

**Sandra**

 

 

_I don't know, really. He stayed rather calm when they finally removed it. Took a short look, before it was put into that box together with what we could gather from his original place. I am informed that his corpse had been dried and artificial mummified, and is not going to rot further._

_As for what he wants to do with it, I have no clue. The worst thing I could imagine is him stuffing it back into the suit, which would not do any harm at all, so I am willing to fulfill his wish. Who knows, maybe he is able to put some distance between now and the past when he got to see his dead remains all alone and in silence._

_Adam_

 

 

Okay cool, thanks for answering so fast, got a little bit worried that it'll take another day. We bring him his corpse now, you think we should supervise him?

CENT-COM

 

 

_No, I think not. The cameras are enough. Give him the time he needs. Maybe tell him that you will pick it up tomorrow and then see if he would like to have it longer. After this last chapter he probably needs all the comfort we can offer to him._

_Adam_

 

 

Okay, but I am not going to hug that thing.

CENT-COM

 

 

/// hidden text section end

 

 

**6.11.2019**

 

 

///hidden text section start

 

 

_Good morning everyone._

_Did Mr. Afton do anything with his remains?_

_Adam_

 

 

Hey, morning, yeah, no. I just finished fastforwarding the tapes. He just stared at it for the better part of an hour, then closed the lid and went to bed. He's still in there. Didn't move a single inch. We would wake him, but since he is technically not a prisoner any more... and has no real use for breakfast...

Other side note, I managed to move in some guards who are chill about this spooky stuff. Still think this is not the best solution, but you are the boss after all, as long as you want him here I try to keep it smooth.

CENT-COM

 

 

**Can someone please check if he is still alive?**

**Sandra**

 

 

He was already dead, Sandra.

Lena

 

 

_I just went in with two guards, waking him up. (he is alright)_

_I asked him if it is okay if we take his remains away now, he nodded._

_Then, and please understand that this is quite the milestone, then he would ask me if we could 'please' skip our session today. He said he had some 'crying to do'. I offered him to turn our two hours into a simple sitting with me just listening and not saying anything. He thought about it for a moment, then said 'Not today'._

_This is by far the most civilized conversation I ever had with him. Maybe we finally moved a step forwards. I don't even remember all the names he has so far called me, but this time, there was no aggression at all. He did not completely shrug off my offer, either. I have hope that he is able to see that I am here to help him._

_Well. I do not think he will write anything today, I would like to ask you two to go through the text so that we can discuss this in a phone conference. This text file is nice, since you can just step into it when you got some spare minutes, but I think we need to talk._

_Adam_

 

 

**Oh wow, for one second I thought he would be gone for good.**

**Wow. Just wow. I am used to some level of tough stuff, but this is really nagging at my roots. On the one hand, I still am in disbelief that this really could be the truth. On the other hand I absolutely want to help, not only as a doctor, but as a human being. And then again, there is this part in me that just says in this actual moment: Would have been better for him just to die.**

**And it makes me furious that some part of me is thinking this.**

**Sandra**

 

 

_Lets talk about this in a conference._

_Adam_

 

 

/// hidden text section end

 

 

I was alone for so long.

All alone. Forgot what the sun looked like. How it felt to walk through the rain. I am dead. By now longer dead than I had been alive. I will never feel the rain again. You say there is hope. Where. I see no hope. I want to be dead. Just please, let me die. Who am I? What am I? Have I ever been someone? I never felt like a someone.

Work, work, work, work, work, work, work, work, work, work, work. Void.

Remember to smile, you are the face of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza.

Where is hope.

What is hope. How can you have hope? I am dead. I dead. Dead. There is no future for me to hope for. Never was. I am dead. Ever been alive? Why am I typing this is just want it all to end

 

 

Ugh.

Sorry for that. Tried to delete it, but program won't let me after the big breaks appear. So there you have a wonderful and authentic meltdown, I used to have these like ten times a day. More in the safe room.

But show must go on, so...

I don't remember much after I killed Robert. After… she. Did. She WAS happy. That her good boy brought her a nice little toy. I guess she was also quite happy that her fucking brainwashing finally took over.

Gosh how bad I felt. But I was a good boy.

Went to work as always. Made kiddies laugh. But it was not the same. It was so far away now. Before, it just felt to be within reach. I just had to stretch a little further to grasp it. But now the sun was so far away.

Was ripping me apart. Funny laughy dancy Freddy at day. Silent cold empty Purple Guy at night. I needed the kids to feel like… to feel something. To FEEL. The kids, or her.

I went to double shift. Sixteen hours a day, every day. Did it not for the money, though. Pay was shitty. Maybe just thought that, keeping away from Lucy would allow me to learn it myself. Maybe the kids could teach me. Maybe it would rub off. I don't know what I was thinking back then. If I was thinking. Work. Just be the bear, just make them happy, just dance and sing. And remember to smile, you are the face of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. Do your best and add ano

 

 

**7.11.2019**

 

 

ther hundred perc

Wow hey, rude. Fucking program. I'm trying to have a conversation here with my very own diary and you think to put your stupid date in here is cool? Fuck you.

No thank you.

Thank you.

No need to loath.

 

My mother died '85.

Nothing special. She was doing the dishes at night, suddenly she turned around, looked each of us three kids in the eyes. And dropped dead. Mary had a breakdown. I guess she and mom had been closer than I thought. Vincent and I just were sitting there, watching. Then he stood up, walked over to mom, and gently patted her hair. And gave Mary a hug. A half hour long hug. After that, he made the necessary phone calls.

I blacked out.

I don't know if it was my growing exhaustion, or if there had been some emotions I could just not understand, but I blacked out. Woke up in time for the next shift. Mom's body had been taken away, Vincent and Mary were already at work. Someone had taken me to bed, and there was breakfast left for me.

Vincent contacted our sister in England. As before, she responded shortly after. That was the first time I was allowed to read the letter she sent. It was long. She explained her original decision to stay in Lincoln, gave a short overview of what she did with her life. She offered condolence. Was sorry that she could not have taken us in when she broke with our parents. She was so sorry. She offered any of us a place to stay if we should decide to leave the US. But she did not want to have anything to do with what our parents had left.

Mary took a ship to London three days later. Today I think, that she somehow managed to grow out of all this shit our dad had done to us. I remember that she tried to convince Vincent to join her. She did not try this with me. Had there been hate between us? I don't know, really. Maybe she could sense that I was beyond hope. Maybe she was afraid? I don't know.

She left. And I never got to know anything new about her.

Just a month later, Vincent said that he wanted to sell the house. He said it would be better to leave all this behind and start anew. As with Mary, I think he was somehow able to forgive and forget. Maybe he had had friends? Fulfillment at work? A special someone? I wouldn't know. Never had seen him as a person before. Until then. He was rather tall, lean and well build. A ginger, like our mom. Warm eyes, a gentle smile. Freckles. A soft voice. All the time I had been convinced that he was the killer of our father. He was not. Barely able to clean a single plate, and clumsy enough to outright drop it. I knew how a murderer looked like. How one acts and thinks and behaves. Lucy was like a cat. Moving gently, always silent and smooth. And I could tell that Vincent had never been able to kill someone and get away with it. No, there had been only one person in our family organized and skilled enough to be good at murdering.

Mother.

After the house was sold, I lived out of my car for more than a half year. Well, I slept there. With being at Freddy's for eighteen hours per day, I didn't had any use for a proper place to live in. I was the guy to hand it over to the night guard at midnight, and take it over again at six in the morning, with the first employees usually getting in at seven. Had a whole hour to shower, get some laundry done and eat something, depositing the occasional corpse of a night guard killed by the bots and put them in the books as missed, so why getting a place for myself? The pizzeria had it all.

I totally missed a possible chance to break out of all this.

But why would I?

Had been the employee of the month since my first day there. Had been on shift for almost tow full years without a single day off. I was their best Freddy. I was their best arcade mechanic. I was the guy knowing every single nut and bolt of the animatronics. I was nothing. Whatever was left of my real self faded away. Just a hollow shell that kept on working. And remembered to smile, since I was the face of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza.

Funny though. Today I am a hollow shell that did refuse to die.

 

 

In my years at the safe room, I spend quite some time thinking about this phase, really. I can only guess that this was my last try to stop myself from getting further involved with, and entangled by Lucy. And becoming the serial killer's sidekick that I am today. You cannot do anything stupid when there simply is no time. I crawled into my car at night, and blacked out, just to get up six hours later and pull another double shift. Each day. Any day. Lucy never showed up. I missed her deeply, like a junkie his trips. But she knew that I would not spill a single word. No. She had made her point. Without me, those two kids would've been still alive. Okay, Lucy had been the one doing the dirty work. But I delivered the prey.

Work. Just be the bear. Make them happy. Remember to smile. SMILE. Stay away from that hag. Don’t kill anybody. Eighteen hours. Every. Single. Day.

Of course people started to wonder. Some were worried, I guess. Some angry maybe. Most thought I was stupid. I practically filled the spots of four full-time workers, while getting paid just for one.

It went on that way until Christmas.

To make it clear, for me, holidays had always been something that was happening to others. At home, we'd never been celebrating anything.

This time should be different.

Vincent appeared out of nowhere on December 23th. Since the sale of the house we hadn't talked. But now, he was there, in his dirty clothes, probably came straight from work. He smiled at me, hugged me even, and asked how I was doing. If I had any plans for the holidays. If he could come over for a couple of hours.

I told him that I didn't had a place of my own, sleeping in my car and all. It hurt him. Well, that is was I think today. He looked rather disturbed.

I don't know why I agreed to spend the holidays with him. I was tired all the time, I was empty, burned out. I was afraid that I would run back to her. I was so cold.

He had a small flat in a bad neighborhood. But it was heaven.

I stepped in there, and felt warm. The walls had a nice, orange color, there was fuzzy carpet all over the place. Comfy armchairs, pictures at the walls. He had a tree. A fucking Christmas tree. It sparkled like a chest full of treasures. His place was so warm. So nice. He was so warm. I cried before I got to drop my shoes.

No.

I did not harm him in any way. Okay, besides being a shitty brother.

He was a someone.

I guess, after Lucy, he was the very first someone I had ever seen. Clumsy, still. But got his things done. He made cookies. Freaking gingerbread men. I cried. I did not know anything else but cry. I cried and cried and cried even more, until I blacked out.

Woke up in a bed, was all warm and nice. Clean. My car was by now stinky as a rotting shoe. But Vincent's flat smelled like Christmas.

He got me a present.

A motherfucking goddamned creeping present. With a stupid purple ribbon on it! A PURPLE RIBBON!

I cried so much on these three days. It was as if all the bottled up emotions would just burst out in a single shoot.

I had nothing to give him. I was a nothing. He was a someone. He had it all. He had found it. IT. But somehow I knew, that he would not be able to give it to me. It was his. It belonged to him. He had found it. Why the difference? I still have no answer. When I saw a kid, it was clear to me that I could trade it in for happiness. That I could be a good boy. Okay, after Robert, I felt that it was out of reach. But still, it was there. Obtainable. Vincent's happiness was... not.

I had a major breakdown.

Completely phased out. I slept much, and when not sleeping, I cried. We got not much talking done, thanks to my meltdown. But I knew, he was there.

 

Today I am aware that it was a catastrophically stupid decision to turn Vincent's offer down. He wanted me to move in. To quit my job, that was grinding me to dust, and search help. You know, therapy made baby steps back then. The European Federation, the Kingdom of Hawaii with their fancy underwater cities, the Aztecs... all were at least twenty years further into development. Heck, the EF had launched their colonization of the motherfucking Moon in 81, after that Aztec woman had been the first human up there. What was her name again? Metzli something? Never been good with Aztec names. The USA was nothing. Barely able to keep away from another national breakdown. Healthcare was luxury. And mental illnesses were still not invented in good old praying 'murica. Most people were still convinced that they could cure you either by splashing holy water in your face, or by drilling holes into your skull.

I don't know if Vincent could have been able to help me. And to be honest, I am still happy that I didn't hurt him. He didn't deserve it.

Nobody deserved it.

Nobody. I am sorry.

I am so sorry. Couldn't save them. It was me.

It was me.

 

 

I am tired. There is so much going on in me, but still I am tired. I don't belong here. I never did. Sometimes it feels as if my mother gave birth to a hollow shell that was supposed to die soon after delivery, but somehow went on. Like I went on being here even after my body was crushed and mangled and smashed.

You know, this whole thing with Purple Guy is rather good describing myself. William Afton is just what was written on my birth certificate. He never existed. My father called me a runt. My mother wouldn't call my name at all. My sister called me little one. My brother called me brother. Lucy called me her good boy. These are things. Not a someone. The whole idea with names is, that you get a way to address the person. Not just their outer shell, not just calling them by what they are to you. Somehow, it was the same at work. Nobody called me William. Or Willy or Liam or whatever. Or my second name. Dante. I DO have this name you know? Never heard it. Was Purple Guy from the very start. A nobody.

Smiling.

All the time.

Whatever was going on.

Remember.

To.

Smile.

I was a smiling nothing.

And a good boy. I missed it so much.

And Freddy.

I loved being Freddy. Freddy was loved. Kids loved Freddy. Freddy could dance and sing like a lunatic, and everybody would cheer. Freddy was someone. But when I left the suit, I returned to be Purple Guy. A nothing. Employee of the month. Stupid moron who would sell his body and soul to Fazbear Entertainment.

I did not.

These never belonged to me anyway.

 

 

_-Mr. Afton. Thank you for writing this! I can tell how much of a burden this was. And am so grateful that you managed to get this out._

_If you want someone to listen, please contact me. I will make room for you. If not, this is fine too. Just please remember, I am there for you._

_We are._

_-Adam_

 

 

Yes please.

I would like that.

 

 

/// hidden text section start

 

 

_We definitely made a step. You probably can understand how happy this makes me. Just a month ago he was barely able to contain his... well, all his negativity. He was like a cornered dog, biting at everything. He called me stupid for reaching out to him. Now, he reaches out to me._

_I need to prepare well for this. I do not want to disturb what little trust we managed to get._

_By the way, Mr. Admin, I wish you to get a contact done to his brother. He would be around sixty by now, could as well be alive. I hope he is. We may need him._

_And don't worry about the information blockade court ordered – I have all necessary permissions._

_Adam_

 

 

**I would really like to listen to this talk, if you could get a connection done. Of course, if William agrees to this.**

**Sandra**

 

 

Me too, but I don't dare to interfere right now. This is a critical point and phase.

And yes, Adam. I understand how happy you are. I might not be as close to him as you are, but still, I am happy.

Lena

 

 

/// hidden text section end

 

 

**8.11.2019**

 

 

/// hidden text section start

 

 

We found the address of his brother. Right now we gather everything we need to make first contact. Might take a day or three. I'll keep you guys updated.

CENT-COM

 

 

_Take your time._

_I guess the dam starts to break, something is leaking out. We had a double session today, talking mostly about the text. Overall, William was calm and open, and kept the amount of curses at a minimum._

_We are making progress. I am so happy that we move forward._

_Adam_

 

 

/// hidden text section end

 

 

**9.11.2019**

 

 

/// hidden text section start

 

 

Hey, g'morning folks. Central Admin here, with rather good news.

Took us not that much time to get the permissions. Seems that the gray suits are rather interested in the outcome of all this.

We made contact to Mr. Vincent Afton, he is alive and as far as we know in good health, but retired from work. Some decent talker filled him in somewhat. Left out the spooky stuff for now, but told him that his brother was found. We actually have some more talking going on right now. It seems that Mr. V. Afton had quite an eye on all this Fazbear stuff, even the haunted robot episodes. He just visited the horror show in hopes to find a clue of his lost brother. I am told the man is somehow expecting something not-that-normal approaching.

So.

That's why I got an idea.

I can fiddle with this program a little and allow Mr. V. Afton as a user. Could send him a tablet PC, too, so that he could read from home. I guess it is simply easier for everyone when he gotta read this straight from his brother.

What do you say?

CENT-COM

 

 

_As happy as I am that William's brother is alive and well, I have the feeling that this approach is too fast. I would rather not introduce them right now, we were just able to make some first steps, rushing forwards would probably do far more damage than any good._

_Do not misunderstand me, I would really like to reunite them. I am just afraid that we might lose the progress we made._

_Adam_

 

 

Personally, I like this idea. As unbelievable this whole case might be, there are lots of information in here that only the 'real' William Afton could know about. We already got to know that William still has some bonds to his brother, and adding what we were able to gather the other day, there might still be points we could build on. You know, stability and trust are really important, and since William doesn't need to eat or sleep, and physical activities are rather useless to him, we don't have much to create a stable environment. A family member might help a great deal.

Lena

 

 

You know, I could just add him as a reader now. Or maybe allow him only to write in these hidden text fields, as a ghost reader. So no need to reunite them right now.

I thought this would just make it easier in the long run, since I somehow want that zombie bunny to get better, but hey, I'm just the PC nerd here, an maybe thinking the wrong way.

CENT-COM

 

 

**A ghostreader might just do it. I mean, sooner or later we are going to fill him in anyway, so why not via his brother's own writing? I personally absolutely agree with Lena. There are not many points were we could offer a little comfort to a robot so we better take what we can get. Plus, I really need to work together with Vincent, and sorry to brag, but I am the pediatric here ;)**

**Sandra**

 

 

_Okay, three voices against mine._

_I am willing to agree under one condition: let me please first have a phone talk with Vincent._

_And by the way: thank you for the idea, Mr. Admin._

_Adam_

 

 

All right boss, that tablet will take a day to get there anyway. Enough time to prepare everything. I just upload the changes, and we are good to go.

CENT-COM

 

 

/// system administrator CENT-COM updated rules

/// added users Vicent Afton (restricted, hidden)

/// hidden text sections enabled

/// allowed users CENT-COM, Dr. Adam Piers, Dr. Sandra Vallence, Lena Jong, Vincent Afton

/// excluded users Springtrap

 

 

_Could you please stop calling him Springtrap? I know why you do this, but that's degrading._

_Adam_

 

 

He picked that user name himself, I swear. Kinda sticks with the guards, though. Mostly cause we are not allowed to use his real name outside of this very document and your sessions.

CENT-COM

 

 

/// hidden text section end

 

 

So hey folks.

I know it's late today. No clue how much writing I am able to get done. You see, that... talk we had was... was different. Can not say that I liked it. I felt stupid all the time. Sitting there, having three people listening to me. I know. I know you want to help. I know. Still don't understand why, but I know. I played my part so far, but this was quite something. Never got much talking done with anyone. And after 30 years in a locked room, it was rather strange to talk at all. This text here came to feel like a second mind for me. I used to be alone with my mind, so that worked rather well. Hate to admit it, but that was a good idea there, Adam. But talking? Feels so stupid and senseless. The other thing is, that this soundbox still is crap. No match for the stuff you guys have nowadays. Even after it got repaired, it sounds creepy. That's why the springlock suits had been made in the first place. Let 'em run around as a cheap robot, but turn them into a costume when you need a singer.

They were deathtraps, though. My original suit, Golden Freddy, crushed a coworker of mine, and both suits were dumped after this. Guess same thing happened in other places, too. Fazbear Entertainment had always been rather silent when it came to accidents. And they didn't give a single crap about their employees, even before shit hit the fan.

I mean, I was doing double shifts for two years, and management couldn't care less.

Okay.

I guess I have to go on. If you did your homework, my dead counter by now was 2.

I know that's horrible on its own, but we need to get to 16, right? And time is running out, we're already at '86, just two more years for me to die myself.

I know.

It should not sound that funny. I am sorry.

And I know. It wasn't me.

So here we go.

 

Told you turning my brother down was stupid. I agreed to go down to normal shift, and find a place to live. That was a promise I made, and I kept it. I know I should have moved in with him. He could tell something was off. Didn't know anything about Lucy, but he had this gut feeling that something went awfully wrong.

However, I decided to stay on my own. Stupid, stupid Purple Guy.

Since I practically had had no costs for half a year I had a little spare to get a flat near Freddy's. Vincent helped me getting this place liveable. It never felt as warm and nice as his own flat, though. But it was better than sleeping in my car. Hey, I even got purple walls! And a house plant. Named her Lilly. I don't remember what kind of plant it was. Green, with leaves. You need to put water into there. That kind of plant. Surprisingly, Lilly did a good job not dying. Wonder if she still is alive?

Well, whatever.

The idea of pulling normal shifts was that I got some time for myself. Relaxing. Maybe finding a hobby. Making friends. Doing stuff a twentysomething is supposed to do. I felt stupid. The first day I came home after a normal shift, I just sat down and wondered what people do. What normal people do, anyway. I won't go much into detail now. Short version: for my brothers sake I kept up a facade of a well behaved, normal citizen. He would visit me, I would visit him, we talked about the bad old times, everything was fine. As soon as I was alone, I fell back into that bottomless hole. As long as people told me what to do, as long as I practically had to run an understaffed restaurant, there had been not much time to think about anything else. But now? Having half of the day spare? It was horrible.

I went through so many different stages of grief and agony. I started to cut myself. To poison myself. Slowly. Just make him feel bad. Just make that Purple prick suffer. He'd deserve it. Murderer.

I found myself back on Lucy's doorstep in February 1986.

She didn’t say a word, but smiled. She knew that she had won. Oh yes, she did. I was a wreck. I was begging her to care for me. To forgive me that I had been away so long.

She smiled. And said, I would have to pay a price if I wanted to be her good boy again. And she knew just the place where I could pay it.

I do not know the girls name.

I hadn't eaten in several days – you know, suffer! – and just was done with my shift, leaving Freddy's. She ran up to me and hugged me. Said she recognized me being Golden Freddy. She wanted an autograph and wanted me to sing something, she asked me if I really was the major of that stupid Saturday morning cartoon's village. I guess I'd really been her idol. Happy little bouncer. I did not even get to know her name. I am sorry. She just wanted to meet her favorite entertainer. You just wanted to be happy. I am sorry.

First time it happened inside the pizzeria. Said I'd show her the costumes. I did. Explained stuff. Let her wear the mask of Golden Freddy. Gave her a dolly. She loved it! She was so happy. When she asked me why I was crying, I said, it just made me happy to make her happy.

I called Lucy.

I said she had two hours. After that, I would come and clean up, and better not find a corpse.

Payment received.

I was a good boy.

After that, I drove straight to the hospital. Said I had the runs. Thanks to not eating for five days, my innards were quite disturbed, so the symptoms were fitting. Got treatment, and could call in sick for some days. Enough time to cry my eyes out. I hit myself so often that I finally was covered in bruises from head to toe. Allowed her to be killed. It was me.

This whole one shifting was doing it's best bringing me down. Double shift had been poison to my body, but normal shift tore into my mind. You should think I didn't had any left back then to be torn, but I did. I was at Lucy’s far too often, far too long. Her sweet poison was driving me further and further into madness. And into her web. By now, she had convinced me that she, in fact, was the one being abused in here. She made it sound that I would give her so much trouble. I was sorry. I wanted to stay her good boy.

Not even a month passed until I payed again.

Jacob. I guess his parents had been immigrants, maybe from eastern Europe. His English was not very good. But his eyes were shining when big Freddy gave him that bear dolly. He sang to it, hugged it and would not let go the whole day. His parents left him alone to do some shopping. They would never see him again.

I am so sorry.

 

 

**10.11.2019**

 

 

I do not remember much after that last murder. I tried to kill myself using rat poison. Did not use enough, but too much to be able to take another dose on my own. I guess some coworkers were startled when good old Purple Guy did not show up at work, and informed the police. I woke up in the hospital. Someone even had had the nerve to bring me flowers. Flowers on a murderer's nightstand. Purple flowers. Motherfucking purple shitstains. I remember that I was happy to see them. But also sad. And angry. If I had been able to move, I guess I would have swallowed them just to be out of my sight.

They were asking questions, as cops do.

Now comes the funny thing.

I wanted it to stop. I wanted it all to stop. In my mind, I'd just grab that gun of this officer and shoot myself. Or tell them the truth. Saying: It's me. I am a murderer, please bring me to court.

I did not do this. Instead of ending this, I told 'em I mixed up edible meat and a prepared rat bait. Not only a murderer, but a coward, too. And a liar. Growing list of sins you got there, Purple Guy.

Vincent offered to nurse me, to keep the hospital bill down. I refused.

A month later, I was back to work. And broke.

And sorry.

 

 

/// hidden text section start

 

 

I brought the flowers. This was a horrible day. Someone called my workplace, they said my brother was in hospital, nobody knew if he would make it. I remember that I just jumped on my bike and drove as fast as I could back to town. He was still unconscious when I arrived, so I just mounted my bike again to get him flowers. It took me an hour to find purple ones.

Vincent

 

 

_I guess 'welcome' is the wrong word, Mr. Afton, given the circumstances. I am personally still not sure if this is a good idea, but I do have hope. Were you able to read through the whole text?_

_Adam_

 

 

Good sir, I have six grandchildren. You need to get used to those tiny mobiles if you want to keep in contact with the family. As of your concerns: I understand. You are right to be wary. Actually, this makes you stand out as a good doctor.

Please forgive me when I am not yet able to offer much help. I am still shocked. I lost my brother thirty years ago. He just turned into thin air, and nobody cared enough to do more than just fill a missing report.

But then, yesterday, I got told that my brother was found. They would not say if dead or alive. I soon got to learn, why.

I am grateful, so don't get me wrong, it is just much to take in. I knew that some strange things were going on in that wretched place. But this is definitely a couple of sizes bigger than I could ever think of.

And I knew that he had bad company. If I only had been more persistent back then.

First I thought you tried to hoax me, but I was willing to take that risk.

Now, after reading this all, I can definitely confirm: This is my brother. This is William Dante Afton.

And I would like to thank you all for bringing me back my brother, in what shape he might be, I don't care. This is him.

Vincent

 

 

/// hidden text section end

 

 

Dudes, what is going on? I was trying to edit something I wrote earlier, usually I can do this as long as it is the same day. But now it say 'restricted text portion' as if someone had commented. I don't see any comment, so is this a bug?

Anyway... Back to the shit flow.

That was number four.

 

I was a wreck. And looked like one, too. Bruises all over, and cuts. Would not stop this till the very end. The guilt was to much, I needed to feel pain just to compensate. I don't know why I would not just kill myself. Maybe I lost hope that I would get it done. I tried before, with no success.

People asked why I was so bruised. I told them it was the suit. I told Vincent that it was the damn suit. I lied.

But as if to mark my false point, a coworker got crushed by Golden Freddy some days later, and everyone agreed that this suit had been giving me quite some trouble before. Some said, that it luckily had not been me in there?! Thank you, God or whoever, for allowing me to get away.

Both springlock suits got out of order.

That was the time when things started to get wonky all over. The animatronics had been in bad shape for years. Mine were somewhat better off, but I could only do so much. Europe was preparing the launch of the fourth generation of AI, Aloha Green Tech of Hawaii had just build their first autonomous ocean cleaners. We were still at 1975. Accidents happened. Not only at my place, but all over the states. Kids were reported missing. And as for now, only two of them were my fault, with my first two victims not associated with Fazbear Entertainment. So I guess there had been at least one other killer who used a different Freddy's as a place to get their work done. Company would not do anything else but filling missing reports. And, as I got to learn later, paying hush money. At the end of 1986, we finally got new animatronics. They fried the brains of the old ones, and kept 'em for parts, since the new ones used the same technology, just a little bit better tuned. They still had teeth. They still had moving parts that simply could crush you. A German safety manager would have lost their shit. They still were ugly. But they were “new” and “improved”, so the media would praise them.

Beside this, nothing changed. Too few people, too many things in bad shape. The building started to break down, the plumbing was the worst. First thing to do every morning was pulling open all spigots and constantly flushing the toilets so that the brown gunk would eventually turn into clear water.

Originally, staff was allowed to eat there for free. And enjoyed it, since the pizza used to be quite good. That was no longer the case. Things got so bad that the kitchen was closed for good, and the pizza was mass ordered frozen. Of course you can tell if a pizza was freshly made, or just defrosted. Even the new robots wouldn't do the trick. Animatronics had passed their prime time, kids these days liked other things, or wanted the real shit. Finely tuned robots. Delicate and smooth facial expression. Soft and flowing voices. The European Federation had these. Freddy's didn't. I guess my place was somewhat lucky to have a great selection of arcade games, since we kept being an inch out of the red, while other places got shut down. Teens didn't care if the pizza was bad, as long as it was cheap enough and they had a place to hang out. Company was failing, and they knew it, tried to pull out every last trick they could think of.

We started some charity work after hours. Kids from poor households and orphanages, and later on even homeless, could come in and eat for free. They did not get the whole program, of course, but the headlines got better for some time. In the beginning, only “volunteers” were supposed to work there. But since we got so few hands, it just became a third shift without pay.

Things went down and down.

Of course they put me into after hours. Had no family, and suddenly they did remember that I used to work eighteen hours per day. Was a nightmare. A wolf among lambs. I used the Golden Bonnie suit to bait the kids, who were miserable enough to start with, into the safe room. They just were happy to eat some trash food like all kids like to do.

But Purple Guy was oh so unhappy and mentally ill and baited them into the spider's web.

It was more or less a straight line.

Benjamin in April, Clara in September, and Timmy in October, at his birthday.

I was a good boy.

Since it was starting to get cold outside, we needed to get creative to depose the corpses. I stuffed them into the new animatronics. People noticed the horrid stench and dripping mucus, but, luckily, something else was keeping mouths busy.

The Bite of '87.

I hadn't been on shift that day, but I still got a nice coverage thanks to all major media talking about nothing else. Seems that a kid was throwing a birthday party, and got bullied. We had been understaffed for quite some time, and were in no way able to keep a whole party smooth. And, who knew, kids rather give a shit about signs saying to not step on the stage. The bullies shoved him into the mouth of a brown Freddy animatronic, that was just singing a birthday song. The jaws crushed the kid's skull, removing parts of his brain. He got to “live” another six days, as a ceiling starer. Needles to say that the volcano finally erupted. People gathered what they could and piled all the bad coverage up. A huge lawsuit was on the roll. And on top of that, the animatronics started to act strange. Killed night guards. Even MORE as before. Stared at adult men. Smelled like dead people. Haunted. Scandals popped up, basically on top of each other. Each and every restaurant seemed to have plenty of skeletons in the closet. Like, literally. People who had been generously paid to shut up started to talk.

Good for Purple Guy and the Black Widow, though.

Lara in December, only a few days away from Christmas '87.

Hugo on New Years eve.

Stacy on January 12th.

Then came the master piece. So to speak. On January 13th we got informed that the building will go into lock down for some time, so things could be cleared out and cleaned up. It seems that, despite everything going on, they had found someone willing to invest in this failing piece of trash, and wanted to get some desperately needed repairs done. All scheduled events were supposed to go on, but nothing new should be booked.

I happened to be on shift the very last day. And beside me, nobody else.

I

Ugh. Give me a moment.

 

 

Okay. Okay, go on. I don't want to. I have to. Punishment.

I was alone. With five kids. Newspapers screamed into the public that our place was haunted, that a mass murderer was one the loose, targeting kids at Freddy's. They left me. Left me ALONE. With five kids. I tried to pull through. I threw a tantrum or three in the safe room. Just this one more time and then never again. I wanted to quit. To finally go to the police. To beg for forgiveness to whoever would be willing to hear me.

Just don't do it.

Just. Do. Not. Do. It.

Purple Guy did it.

Lucy came in.

They died. It's me. Murderer. Slaughterer. Childmolester. Liar. Monster. Coward. Purple Monster. It was me. They were all dead.

I cleaned up. Stuffed them away. Made all entries in the books. Called the night guy that I was done. Locked the building. Went home. Jumped straight out of the window. Got just a minor injury, since it was the third floor.

I did not sleep. I did not sleep. I saw them. Saw them all. In my mind. Purple Guy killed them all. Got a call. From the night guard. He said the robots ran amok. He was found dead and stuffed the next day. I went there to clean up.

And then, finally, that teen. January 21th.

He was a causal at the arcade, I knew him. Rather friendly. But he got suspicious, I guess. Purple Guy went back stage, Golden Bonnie came out, got a kid separated, and some time later, Purple Guy reappeared, a day or two after, kid was reported missing.

That a teenage boy is more observant than a bunch of grown ups tells you much about the system we live in. Well, you live. I don't.

He had the bad luck running into me when he finally had been brave enough to sneak in. After all, I had gained quite some skill to immobilize, tie up and hide a person.

Lucy came in, I left.

Told her to just let him lie there. With all things going on, one more corpse wouldn't upset anyone. A horribly defiled corpse, chopped into pieces.

 

They got me on January 22th as you know. I went there. With an ax. I knew it was me. I knew they were haunted. I could not think further than just to end it. But even that didn't bring them any peace. Maybe because I basically – finally! – managed to kill myself?

I don't know.

I still don't know.

I am sorry.

Tired. And sorry.

 

 

**11.11.2011**

 

/// hidden text section start

 

 

**Hey, what is going on?! It's almost four in the evening, is nobody going to say anything about this? He did not react positively on me, so I rather won't try it.**

**Sandra**

 

 

**People, seriously! What in the hell is going on?! I called you, nobody is there! Are you alright? Is Spr-William alright?!?**

**Sandra**

 

 

/// hidden text section end

 

 

**12.11.2019**

 

 

/// hidden text section start

 

 

_We are alright._

_As for William... I am sorry that I could not write any reaction. Straight after he finished his writing, he would go into a breakdown._

_He managed to rip off great portions of his fur and even some parts of his legs and arms. Finally, he removed the upper half of his head, and threw it against the wall. And again and again._

_I spend the whole last day trying to calm him down._

_I tried everything I could manage to muster. In a vain attempt._

_System Admin went beyond all rules and called Vincent, without anyone agreeing._

_He came. Shoved me aside, knelt down, and gave William a hug._

_I.... I still am busy analyzing this all. And maybe getting the pictures of a robot violently ripping itself apart out of my head. He cried a whole set of three hours. He said that he was sorry without a single break._

_We are a security prison, and most if not all our inmates have psychical problems, some even beyond help. But I never ever have witnessed something like this._

_I allowed them to stay together for the night, they talked, and Vincent would never let go._

_Sorry that I was not able to respond. I am still shaken._

_Adam_

 

 

_He is alright, somehow. Allowed a mechanist to repair most of the damage, but the fur will take some days to get delivered to us._

_Vincent is still here. They are still talking, with me now and then giving input. It is gushing out of him faster than I can take notes._

_He allowed me to hug him when Vincent needed to go to the bathroom, and he would not stop talking._

_Dam broke._

_Adam_

 

 

_It has been two hard days, for all of us._

_He finally calmed down. Vincent was able to leave, we need to figure something out. I am absolutely against letting William stay at his brother's. This will not happen._

_As much good as Admin's rule violation did, we need to keep this controllable. William is far from being stable. And as much pity I feel for him, he is still a criminal. As for now, writing is on pause. At least as long as we need to stabilize him. Please bear with me, but I am afraid of losing him._

_He is sleeping now. Thank God that he is somehow still able to do this._

_Adam_

 

 

I already got the idea that he is not a violent offender himself. Usually, their aggression is carried outwards. I know, he has been using quite some filthy language, and also a threat or three, but as they say, dogs that bark won't bite.

I need to get some reading done and ask some colleagues. If you need a pause, Adam, I can come over.

Lena

 

 

**Too late. I am already here. I jumped in my car as soon I read Adams first response. I know he might not like me and my approach, but I felt it is necessary. And if I am able to offer Adam a break by taking over some of the other sessions, that's help enough.**

**And yes, I brought a coloring book.**

**Sandra**

 

 

/// hidden text section end

 

 

**13.11.2019**

 

 

/// hidden text section start

 

 

**Adam took a day off. The other two therapists here took over his sessions, I took over William.**

**We spend the day doodling in that book I brought. You know, senseless motoric work without a set goal or any form of thinking, but with a visible result. Towards the evening, he started to talk a little, mostly about the things that were pictured in the book. I offered to stay with him for the night, but he seemed calm enough to be alone.**

**Before I left, I threw an eye on the cams, and... guess what. He got up again and was doodling. I am glad to have those books and colors always within an arm's reach.**

**Also, I gave Admin a hug, he earned it :)**

**Sandra**

 

 

I will be with you within two days. And also I think we should drop out of these hidden text. Pandora's Box is already open.

Lena

 

 

/// hidden text section end

 

**15.11.2019**

 

 

/// system administrator CENT-COM updated rules

/// observing enabled

/// allowed observers FDJ-119, FDJ-822, FDJ-367, GASE_AT12, GASE_PC33, GASE_I1

/// user Vincent Afton unrestricted

/// user Vincent Afton unhidden

 

 

**22.11.2019**

 

 

Feels like a month since I last wrote something here. Had been quite some days. After me completely losing it (sorry again for that episode) I was kinda wrecked. And guess what. Some stupid coloring books kept me sane enough for those three therapists, and my brother, to slowly bring me back.

I'm still having troubles understanding why someone would do these things to the likes of me. Trying to help me? You guys are hopeless.

Thank you.

And sorry that I made fun of the books, Sandra. They are quite good actually. Love that one with the dogs.

 

Had another hearing at court. This time not really about me. I was a witness. Or, maybe more an evidence that happen to be able to talk. With what they gathered out of the safe rooms, and what I had to say, they start to re-roll the whole Fazbear law suit. I wonder if they will get anything out of this at all. I mean, it has been three decades. People have that habit to die sooner or later. We'll see. The next hearing was just a day later. Since I can only cover 14 of the Fazbear child murders, there had to be at least one other. Probably more. Lucy… Oh how happy I will be when I never get to write this name again... Lucy had no other kids from Freddy’s after I died.

So far, there are 87 of unsolved cases left. I guess most of these had been uncovered while I was locked up in the safe room, since I can't remember that it had been SO many. All together, I am a rather small portion. Still too much. But 14 out of 101 somehow sounds… few. And who knows. These are only the cases they were able to connect to Fazbear Entertainment. Maybe there had been more. Far more? And then again, these are “just” missing and/or murdered kids. The number of employees is five times as high. Got me to wonder what kind of hellish enterprise I was working for. I knew that things were off, but 551 employees killed within 25 years of business? That's a nightmare. And I've been doing my part to make it worse. But hey, in the end, I got my own place among those victims. I am case number 413. William Afton, reported missing February 1988.

Well.

I… er… I did use the opportunity to ask again if they please could sue me. It's a matter of justice. And maybe would put an end to all this. The judge looked at me, smiled, and asked what kind of punishment they should dish out. The chair might work. But then again, it might just destroy the circuits of the suit, and not ME, and since a death sentence needs to have a 100% chance of success, it's no use. Also, I am dead. He said that. I am dead. They are not sure what kind of thing I am, and how to put me into the laws, but they cannot sue someone postmortem. Well, was worth another try. I am a murderer. Yeah yeah blah she did not me, but fuck the hell. Kids are dead. I made it happen. The rest is semantics.

Mental illness and traumatic childhood and whatnot are all good and nice to explain how I got there, but they are no excuse.

For me it seems… not right.

I am sitting here, typing shit, coloring purple poodles, enjoying my undead existence, while those I killed or allowed to be killed are either dead or haunting those animatronic horrors. I mean, I am the reason those children never got to lead a long and happy life. It's me. Vincent says, I already did get my punishment. When I finally get to write down what happened in the safe room… maybe he's right. But why am I still here? Why are the souls of my victims still here? They showed me some tapes from the period between my time and today's fright show. Roaming robots, out for murder. To me, it was clear to see. Somehow. Spirits stuck in the machines. And I know that they still are there. The guy running the fright show still refuses to cooperate with the police. Guess he is pissed that they brought me out of that hellhole.

 

Oh well, since I am almost talking about it right now, let's just get this done. And when it starts to overwhelm me, I'll just draw more purple huskies and pink poodles.

 

I was trapped in the safe room for thirty years. Thirty two, actually. The first part of this is covered at the beginning of this text. I stopped at my second “major blackout”. And I had reasons to do this, since I am still unable to believe this batshit myself. As far as I am informed, the place had been bought up and renovated. They'd left the safe room untouched though. If they knew what was in there, or if Fazbear was able to erase the whole room from the blueprints, I do not know. The chamber was rather small, and tucked between internal pipes and venting. Walls were thick. Maybe they thought that space to be empty, or to hold just more infrastructure.

Whatever, I always had the feeling that the whole complex had been abandoned. Could not hear any sound, and the roof was getting worse each year, with water seeping through. Unfortunately, no sunlight.

The whole time span is blurry to me. Between my dead, and the day someone finally broke through the wall, there is no way to tell what happened when. Maybe the degrading of my corpse though, but I am no specialist. Was rather that type of guy to produce a corpse, not studying it. Heh.

Urgh… They said I am supposed to be a little lighthearted about this. Even if this suits my crappy personality, making jokes about those that died thanks to me is still something I'd rather not. They didn't deserve this.

I don't know how long I was gone when I blacked out the second time. The room hadn't changed at all. Same as me. I was still there. Stuck in this suit. I know I sat there some time, just staring at my hands and legs, picking some bits of my dried flesh out of the servos.

It was precisely this time when I more or less finally accepted that I, that Purple Guy was dead. Wherever I was now, I was dead. Maybe hell. Maybe worse. I had quite the list of shit to be punished for.

Dunno if this was some sort of a step. Or a trigger. Maybe it was. Since, after I finally accepted this, they came.

They.

The kids.

They phased trough the walls, surrounding me. Looked worse than before, though. Eyes so black that I feared to be swallowed by them. Their features had started to wash away, just to be replaced by the shapes of the animatronics I'd stuffed them in. Their tears were like tar, slowly dripping to the ground. Was a nightmare, really.

I heard them talking. It was rather hard to understand them, they would sometimes screech and mourn within a sentence, or just drop it all and fade away for a couple of minutes. I tried to talk back. I wanted to beg for forgiveness. I wanted to say sorry. I wanted them to take me to hell, if I hadn't already been there. But I could not talk. The soundbox was filled to the brim with rotting flesh and dried blood. Only some gurgling and a deep mourn came out.

They tackled me. Somehow. I am not a specialist with ghosts, but somehow them touching my... the suit, send a hellish pain through my whole being. I tried to scream, but no use. Tried to get away, but really, how do you escape from spirits that are able to go through solid matter? No, there was no way out. I had to endure it.

They left me some time, for me to lick my wounds. I guess that has been night time, and they wanted to haunt the robots to cause more trouble.

Remembering a tale about whenever you kill you lose a fraction of yourself, I got the strange idea that these were in fact not the souls of the kids. And back then, I was absolutely convinced that I had been the bad guy all along, with Lucy just being forced into action. So maybe these things were just... parts of me? That would explain why they hurt me. I did hurt myself before. But why the night guards?

Anyway, this idea didn't stick long, since they would talk to me any time they came back. And they told me about fragments of their former lives, things that I could never have any knowledge about. Maybe it was a mix? Kids souls, imprinted by the violence, the pain I caused them.

I still don't know.

Their number was going down though. At first, I was haunted by all those I had stuffed into an animatronic, nine in total. If there away-time really was night, they'd went on on me for months. But they lost their shape more and more. Becoming the suits. Or more like, nightmarish phantoms of the suits. I can only guess that their true self, their actual soul or whatnot, would fade away. The more a ghost turned into a character, the less it talked to me. And then, when nothing human was left, the spirit would just leave, and never return. Perhaps they forgot about me. Forgot about being a human once. I thought, that they had gotten their revenge somehow, and were released? But now I know... nope. They just were not able to leave the robots anymore. Or maybe they were, but would not remember me as their murderer. In fact... but well, that's for later.

So.

Number went down to five. Those five who had been killed last. They were... rather stable? The degrading of their humanity was so slow that I barely noticed at all.

Someday, they came to me, I tried to make myself ready to endure their tackling. But they did not hurt me. They just were there, floating in the dimly light room, staring at me. I could see their features. The boy with the buckteeth, and the girl with her piggy tails... They didn't say anything, neither did I.

Then, the girl came near, and she touched me. Of course I thought it would hurt like always. But it did not.

One by one, they hovered down, and touched me. Not saying anything, not trying to hurt me. After this, they stayed a little bit further away, looking at me.

You know, I was not really in the shape to do some serious thinking. After what felt several months of them torturing me, I was barely conscious at all. Don't get me wrong, I deserved that. It should have been going on like that for at least five hundred years. Maybe more. The sum of the years I had stolen from them.

But it did not.

And I wondered why.

They left.

And returned the next day. Repeating the whole thing. One by one, touching me.

It went on three days like this, and every time, I was sure they would start to hurt me again. Maybe I was hoping for it. Suffer, Purple Guy, suffer!

But he was dead. Purple Guy was dead. Left his corpse behind, and a lost soul trapped in an ancient bunny robot. Maybe they were able to see this, too?

The last day, I finally did something. I wrote, since I could not talk. I scratched the letters in the dried puddle of my own blood.

SORRY

That was all.

That was all I could write. That was all that was going on in my mind at that time. I was sorry. I still am. Had been sorry all the time. But I couldn't stop myself. I could not save them.

They left.

And did not return.

Again, I was alone.

 

Time went on.

Without the ghosts returning each day, I again lost any feeling for the flow. The pain they'd caused me still filled a great portion of my mind, but I slowly recovered. When I first tried to move again, the joints were rusty, everything would creak and grate, it was hard to get up. I probably had been in blackout several years. The fur started to get moldy and greenish. The metal rusty. My corpse was more or less dry, since what was left was covered by the fur. I did walk around a little, to get the joints loose.

Slipped on an invisible puddle, and went straight down. The water was enough to cause a short circuit, and I went limb. So I lied there, in a puddle, unable to move. But still awake and aware. Oh how it sucked.

The problem is... it would not dry, since the puddle got a steady supply from the leaking roof. I remember that I literally tried to sleep it of. And somehow, it would work.

But not as you might think.

 

 

**23.11.2019**

 

 

Today I know that some former employee had told that horror guy about the old safe rooms. Seems like they ALL had been bricked.

Back then, it felt like a miracle. Me lying there, unable to move for YEARS, and suddenly, I heard the noise. Heavy tools grinding into the wall. Bricks dropped, people were shouting. Flashy light filled the room. The fur was soaked, I could not even wiggle a toe.

They came in, looked around, and as you can guess, were shocked.

A bloody mess, dried flesh, and a rotting bunny in a puddle. I had a feeling that I was quite stinky, but seems that that was not nearly enough to describe it. But hey well, they had opened a tomb.

I remember one of them guys cheering. “We found one. A REAL one.”

That was me, yes. Guys came, and first of all they would empty a whole bottle of what I think to be air refresher all over me. First one to touch me got a nasty surprise. Yeah, that moldy old bunny suit still had power. And was wet.

Of course it did not take a genius to see the corpse. To understand what had happened here. Either they were really happy to find me, or they were beyond hope, since after the first shock was over, they were really cheery. I got picked up (and sprayed again), and moved out. Some guy started to collect what was left of my corpse outside of the suit.

You know, that had been the first contact to humans after what turned out to be three decades. I was so afraid. So scared. So happy?

They got me de-soaked, using a hair dryer. Took some time. And even after I felt to be mobile again, I did not move.

Played dead. Get it? Heh.

I quickly figured out that the place was rather run down, and not a pizzeria anymore. I heard them talking about how great of an attraction I would be. A real corpse, stuck in one of those evil springlock suits.

Someone called me Springtrap. And somehow, I thought this to be rather fitting. In more than just one way.

However, I was parked in one of the old diner rooms, the whole place looked like an out-of-control Halloween party. I agree that spooky things had been, and still were, going on. But THIS was just ugly and ridiculous.

I still feared what they would do to me when they got to know that I was... alive. Haunted. I guess the whole thing of this freak show WAS the haunted shit. They build and cleaned and decorated, but soon, it was night, and they left.

Dudes you have no idea. As fast as my rusted joints would let me I went to the front windows, just to take a look on the outside.

Stars.

Tiny little diamond sprinkles on the sky. It was so beautiful that I sobbed. I did not dare to go outside. I mean, I had been trapped so long, been alone for so long, but I was scared. Then, I heard steps. Stumbled back to were they put me, and tried to play dead again.

A guy came in just a second later, lighted the room, and looked at me. Ha came closer, pinching his nose shut, and gave me quite the gaze. Yes, sorry, I was a stinky mess of rotting flesh. He left again. I decided to just stay were I was. If I learned something in the safe room, then that was how to wait.

Night would soon be over, and staff came back, shaping this place further. And spraying me again. Which, of course, shorted me. A woman asked, in a rather worried tone, if they should call the police. I mean, they just found a corpse, sealed away in a forgotten room. But she got hushed down, and never asked again.

Well, night again.

I was dry, so I could move about a little. I remembered how it used to look like in here. Some doors were not where they were supposed to be. Altogether, the place had seen better days, but I still could make out where it had been renovated. As for the 'attraction'... well, mostly collages of newspaper headlines, pinned to the wall. Some of the old robots had been putted on display, but not a single one in working condition.

Which... didn't stop them from being haunted.

I saw the ghosts. Yes, they were there. But they seemed to ignore me. Fully transformed into whatever costume I had put them into in the first place. Was like... shadows. As I was roaming about, I occasionally heard the night guard. I tried to hide as best as I could, but... oh well. I forgot the cams. Even back in my time the place had been littered with security cameras. Not that these would have done any good, since the safe room never had one, and that's were I lured the kids into. But however, the guard surely saw me walking around. With all the shit this place has seen, I guessed he was not surprised. Guess again, Springtrap. As I learned later that night, the ghosts were still in the game. But not for me. They completely ignored me, as if I wasn't there. But they followed the guy around, and gave him the shakes whenever they could. Poor guy. But then again, who is stupid enough to take a job in a haunted ruin of a restaurant. Perhaps the same type of person that would pull double shifts in said restaurant... Oh well.

Day came, I went back to my place, and fell asleep, mostly to avoid this yucky feeling of being sprayed and shorted again.

It went on like this until night five.

Guard's nerves were already quite thin thanks to the phantoms, and probably thanks to my roaming, but this time, I really messed up. I fell. Stumbled over some piece of trash or whatnot, I managed to drop down and crashed straight into a ground level vent. Sure that made quite some noise. I heard him running in my direction, but I could not get out. So I just crawled in, and tried to hide. Worked somehow. He got into the room, so panicked I could hear him wheezing. Then he screamed, and I heard stuff breaking and a loud dump. My first thought was, help him!, but I was stuck. Couldn't move backwards, just deeper into the vent. So I did. Without any clue where I was, I just crawled forwards.

Somehow, after what felt like half an hour, I managed to reach an other vent, and got out. Standing up was still rather hard, with my parts rusted and all. I looked around and... well.

Messed up.

You know, the office where the security was placed had that huge front window. Guess were I was standing right then. I stare at him, trough the glass. He was bruised. Bleeding. I guess he fell into one of the displays or so. His eyes were so wide, he was so scared that it jumped over to me and I froze in place as well. Gosh these eyes.

I never had seen fear before. The kids were always knocked out before they knew what was happening. I did not know what to do. So, I slowly raised my hands, to show that I surrender. Well. Guy didn't take it well. A two meter bunny robot, all torn and moldy, with parts of rotting flesh clearly visible, raising its hands.

He collapsed.

Still dazzled, I entered the office, trying to figure out what to do. Back in my time, we had a good stash of first aid things in here, but it seems these got cut out by the current owner. There was literally nothing of use in there. I just took some of that tacky decor that littered the place, a makeshift band-aid, to at least stop the bleeding on his arm. These stupid (broken) robot fingers were not very helpful. Plus, being dirty and moldy as I was, I probably gave him a bunch germs. But hey, at least he didn't die. And those fucking phantoms couldn't do much to him.

I finished up, and straight went back to my place. Felt sorry for the guy.

I still was overwhelmed, being free and all, and my mind was not in the best shape, so I just thought about staying there to figure out what to do next, where to go.

Luckily, that soon turned out to be not necessary. On day six, police came in, and the women who had been wanting to report the found corpse followed them.

I... admit that this has been quite chaotic. Had flashbacks. Oh how often I wanted to surrender myself. Oh boy. They came in, and I just dropped down on my knees, hands up, and started to gurgle about all that shit I had done. Of course they could not understand me. And hey, I did look like a zombie. Got shot several times, and kicked. I am sure I gave them cops some nightmares.

But in the end, things turned out well. One of them was cool headed enough to calm the others down. He approached me, slowly, asking questions. I could not respond, soundbox blocked and all, so, I just pulled a newspaper from the wall (earned me three head shots), and tried my best to write something, with the rust of my fingers as replacement ink.

Guy gave me a pen though, and... well. You know the rest, right?

Perhaps not all.

So erm...

On our way to prison, I wrote down a full confession, and even with most of them in disbelief, they decided to lock me up. My left hand was so badly damaged that it soon stopped responding, so I had to write with the right one. That was even worse, almost impossible to decipher. The cool cop was rather helpful, though. I don't know if he really could believe what was going on, but he acted right. Told me to draw what the matter was. And, thankfully, I remembered how the suits were build and working, so I could sketch down a makeshift blueprint of the soundbox, and what they needed to do to clean it up. They called in a maintenance guy, who was... well. He threw up. Two times, actually. Got a white suit and precision tools, and started working. I felt sorry for him the whole time. But hey, he got my voice back. I could – finally – speak.

Well. The next days were filled with me talking to different dudes. It was... exhausting. After not speaking a single word for three decades, I was not used to have any contact, plus I had a couple of outbreaks and meltdowns. And also, they were not very nice. Most of them would not believe a single word. One tried to remove the head of the suit. He threw up once the stench of my skull hit him. Which... was not cool since it got on the suit, and, you guess it, caused a shorty. At least the soundbox was still working, so I could call him a stupid idiot for getting the suit wet. Oh man that had been horrible days, really.

Only when they compared my confession with their data, and found out that, in fact, both were matching, I got moved to this high security place here, and got heard immediately by court. Oh boy. All those disgusted expression. Sure, I smelled like a pile of... well. Rotting meat. But I got it the first time, dudes, no need to rub it into my cute bunny face all the time.

That hearing was quite disturbing, too. I still was completely brainwashed, my confession said that I, William Afton, was the murderer of these 16 kids. And I was ready to be punished. But… in the time I had been sealed away… SHE had been caught. Years ago, actually. And without any hesitation… as always, actually, she had confessed all her murders. In detail. Covered that I, William Afton, was forced by her to supply her with fresh kids.

That was, in fact, a fist into the face. Was sitting their, stinky and all, and they told me, no, you are not a murderer, ugly bitch already got the chair. It seems, she went really into detail, explaining how she'd spied on me and made me her pet. Her good boy. I was confused. Still am.

That also was the reason for me... not to be very good at cooperating. Actually, I just wanted them to put me down. But... they wouldn't. Spend years waiting for my trial to arrive, finally was there where I belonged, and they refused to do what would have been just. Got me freaking out. I was overwhelmed by everything. They asked shit, much and much shit that had nothing to do with the fact that I fuckingly killed sixteen innocent children. No, they would talk about therapy and rehabilitation and shit like that. I was here, waiting for justice, and they wanted to FIX me. This was... awful. It still is somehow. Even after I went... even after WE went through all this crap, I am still not happy about this. But what to do?

I don't know.

 

 

**25.11.2019**

 

 

Okay, okay, please repeat it for the records. You want me to do WHAT?!

Going out?

You ARE aware that I am a creepy bunny robot possessed by a serial killer?

 

 

~ Mr. Afton, this is only an offer. We thought it would do good. If you don't want right now, this is fine, but sooner or later, you will need to leave this facility behind. And, to be honest, there are other people waiting for the very spot you are filling right now.

~ Lena

 

 

Oh hey cool, just kick me out alright gonna see you next week after I killed an entire kindergarten good idea women ARE YOU THICK?!

I had a fucking breakdown just some days ago, I ripped my head off and threw it against a wall and you want me to LEAVE? Boy I am finally in prison, finally securely contained, and now you want to unleash me again? Did you READ this bullshit I wrote? Oh my motherfucking god!

 

 

_\- Please calm down, Mr. Afton. Nobody is going to 'kick you out' at any given time. We merely brought up the idea for you to be moved into a more open form of therapy. This here is a federal prison, and court just reminded me that, since you are... well, technically to be counted as deceased, you are to be released._

_\- Adam_

 

 

~ I admit that my wording earlier this day was not well picked, I am sorry Mr. Afton. But please understand that you need to move on. No, let me rephrase this: You had been isolated for such a long time, and even while alive you had no access to anything that makes life enjoyable, even worse, you have been victim to traumatic abuse and psychical terror. As glad as we all are that you were able to overcome your initial distrust, there is still much you can gain. Isolating you further will in no way help you to overcome any of your issues. We will lead you, step by step, so you are able to slowly get back into motion. But the steps themselves are something that you, and only you, are able to make.

~ Lena

 

 

Oh my god you folks are crazy as shit. No wonder that so much piss is going on these days when you are all so easy to forgive and let shitheaded psychopaths like me run around freely. Move along she said. The sweet women that never hurt anybody before just wants the insane Springtrap to go on killing kids. Oh yeah sure I am totally cured after a couple of weeks spending with you. No way I ever get back into harming innocent bullshit. I bet the first kid I see is dead meat. Mother of god.

Leave me alone. Just leave me be. I want to be here, locked away, as long as this wretched undead shit is going on. I am no danger here. Just oh wipe my ass and spank me just brick me in again. Just put a wall around me. I was too fucking stupid to die lock me away I am a freaking purple monster, can't you see this?! A SLAUGHTERER! Be damned! Don't you dare talking to me again I'll bite you!

Springtrap out for good.

 

 

///hidden text section start

 

 

_Well, this was something. Almost like the first days. Crap._

_Adam_

 

 

Adam, I am sorry. This was not what I had in mind suggesting this. I was not aware how deeply afraid he is of himself. Normally, one month is enough to move to the next step, but it seems I was outright wrong.

Lena

 

 

**Little Springy always gets foulmouthy when he is panicking. This is probably the only defense mechanism hes was able to develop, beside shutting the eyes and rushing trough. Well, I don't want to say that I told you, but hey. I TOLD you that it is too early.**

**Sandra**

 

 

Yes, I see this now. I need to rethink a little, and slow down my approach. I guess he doesn't want to hear from me for some time, so I have some room to think.

Lena

 

 

**It is interesting though that, after rushing out of the counseling room, he moved this fight into the medium he feels save in. He knew that he would get angry, but also, that writing would keep him from cursing us too much. I still would call this a thing he did quite well.**

**Sandra**

 

 

_At least one of us sees something positive. Thank you, Sandra. Do you have any ideas what we could do next?_

_Adam_

 

 

**I'll get that dog.**

**And more books. That worked well so far. We have a huge tangle of immature and alienated emotions and deep rooted fears here, keeping the hands busy always makes kids relax and be more open for talking. I mean what we had in here was a kid throwing a fight about cleaning his room, fused with an adult who still wants to be dead out of guilt and fear. It's back to the roots. And in this case, we probably need to plant them first.**

**Sandra**

 

 

Out of the blue, he IS coloring right now, so I guess Mrs. Vallence is right.

CENT-COM

 

 

**Are you hijacking our chat AGAIN?! :o**

**Sandra**

 

 

Counseling room is just next door, I could hear the noise quite well.

And hey, I really, really want 'lil Springy to get better. After what I read in here, he's as much victim as the kids. As my teacher in Aztec police school always said: It takes one man to commit a murder, but it takes a whole society to let it happen.

CENT-COM

 

 

_This is, by far, the most inspiring thing I read this year._

_All right ladies, Mr. Admin believes in us, let us get this bunny fixed up._

_Adam_

 

 

/// hidden text section end

 

 

hey dudes

im sorry didnt mean to be so hateful

imma just afraid dont wanna hurt anybody please let me stay here plase

I do anything you want but stop me doing shit please just stop me keep me help me

 

 

**26.11.2019**

 

 

**# Oh boy, I want to hug you right now. We try our best, William, since this is our goal, too. But sometimes, to reach those goals, we need to put in a little effort, and, yes, even a little risk. We are aware what you have done, we also know that you regret this, and yes, we see the danger of it happening again. But this is why we are here, at your side, trying to help you.**

**You went through so much all alone, even in your worst times you tried to control yourself, which speaks much about the good spirit that you still have in you.**

**Humans are not meant to be alone, William. We are meant to work together, and this is what we do right here and right now.**

**Do you want me to bring you something?**

**# Sandra**

 

 

More books. Mine are full.

I am sorry.

 

 

/// system administrator ERROR_MISSINGNO updated rules

/// user Springtrap gained administrator rights

 

 

01110011 01110000 01110010 01101001 01101110 01100111 01110100 01110010 01100001 01110000

01101000 01100101 01101100 01110000

01110111 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01100111 01101111 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01101111 01101110

01101000 01100101 01101100 01110000

 

 

/// system matrix error please contact system administrator

 

 

01101000 01100101 01101100 01110000

 

 

Erm, guys, this is Sandra.

I need someone over here at William's cell.

Many someones.

The suit is 01101000 01100101 01101100 01110000 powerless and hey, I didn't write that! Something strange is going on here.

 

 

_\- Powerless? Maybe a short circuit?_

_\- Adam_

 

 

I have no idea, the laptop is behaving strange. Making noise. And those numbers here are popping up out of nowhere 01001001 00100000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100101

See?

Maybe the laptop is broken and caused an shorty in Williams suit. Should I restart it?

01001110 01001111

 

 

/// system matrix error please contact system administrator

 

 

_\- Seems like there is a bug in there, so maybe yes, restart it. William should be fine, we 01001110 01001111 had these before. Oh dear, this is really strange 01001001 00100000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100101_

_\- Adam_

 

 

NO!

DO NOT TOUCH THE PC!

CENT-COM

 

 

Okay, I don't. Erm, can I type on it anyway?

 

 

Do not shut down the PC. 01001000 01100101 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01110010 01101001 01100111 01101000 01110100 

Oh my god this is so crazy. Like a scifi novel I read.

This is binary. Computers 'think' in this form. And, it is a text, too.

Translates to... oh bullshit, let me try something.

CENT-COM

 

 

/// system administrator CENT-COM updated rules

/// script autocorrect (binary_to_english) enabled

 

 

Hey, try to write something!

CENT-COM

 

 

You mean mOh boy finallye? What the heck?!

Sandra shut up

I am here

Springtrap

William

I am IN the PC

I have no idea what is going on but I am in here believe me please help me

 

 

Oh damn that stuff is getting crazier by the minute! Hey pal, what did you do?

CENT-COM

 

 

Writing

Wanted to write a longer apology but then ouch zack do not know what was going on but now I am here

I can see Sandra through the camera of the PC

And felt her typing

I do not know how I write right now it just happens as I think

What the fucking hell is going on it is dark in here but also so full and hot I can not move

 

 

Okay, I got an idea. Let me gather some stuff and I'll be with you in a sec.

CENT-COM

 

 

What are you doing

Do not stuff something strange into my whatever

That tickles

And I can not hear you

And am not good at reading lips

But you can read what I write, pal?

Yes

It is all numbers but I somehow understand them

Good. Listen up, this is an USB cable, itA what nowis used to transfer data from one device to an other. Your suit does not have a port, but I managed to open up and wrangle the other end of the cable to the metal frame.

Could you try to 'travel' through the cable back into the suit?

Funny guy

I have no idea how I ended up here

How am I supposed to do this

Just think about it?

Dude?

Oh boy!

Hey, everyone, the suit is back on power.

 

 

_\- Care to enlighten me about what on earth is going on right now?_

_\- Adam_

 

 

He's back. Freaked out as hell, but Sandra's here. My, his bunny ears really act naturally. All tucked back. How cute.

Erm. I guess he... okay, let's try this. I guess, since he is bound to that suit, he must be some sort of energy, right? I mean, he manages to power the suit without any form of supply. And since electricity had been standardized since decades, he probably would be able to 'haunt' other electrical devices, too. And I think that just happened.

 

 

_\- You are kidding me, right?_

_\- Adam_

 

 

Hey, he IS a ghost stuck in a bunny robot.

 

 

_\- Fair point. Do you need me to come over?_

_\- Adam_

 

 

Absolutely, Springy is really nervous right now.

 

 

/// system administrator CENT-COM updated rules

/// user Springtrap lost administrator rights

/// running system clean up and debugging

/// please wait

/// 12,232%

/// 33,42%

/// 77%

/// 99,192%

/// system reboot

 

 


End file.
